


Introduction to Dynamics

by juliusschmidt



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coming of Age, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-04-12
Packaged: 2019-04-21 20:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 29,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14292345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juliusschmidt/pseuds/juliusschmidt
Summary: Louis Tomlinson is the outspoken omega in the 'Introduction to Dynamics' course Harry wishes he didn't have to take. He's nearly certain to present as a beta, after all. Things will be simple for him.





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Awriterwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awriterwrites/gifts).



> Dear Lisa, 
> 
> I'm sorry this is ages late. Hope you love it! Your prompts were fantastic. <3 
> 
> So much love and thanks to my beta. 
> 
> Warning: as with most a/b/o, consent is complicated, but it is explicitly given.

**Name:** _Louis Tomlinson_

 **Age:** _18_

 **Dynamic (if you know and feel comfortable sharing):** _Omega. That’s right, I said it! First heat last May. ~~Still irregular.~~ _

**Family Dynamics (optional):** _Mum’s an omega. She’s dated more than her fair share of knot-fuck alphas, but raised us kids mostly on her own. She’s superhero and a queen._

 **What you hope to learn in this course:** _Omegas. Let’s keep it real, too. None of this bullshit about us needing an alpha to make it in the world._ _And a little about male omegas would be nice. I get asked if I have a vagina or a butt vagina all the time. (I don’t.)_

 **Anything else you want me to know:** _OMEGAS FOREVER!!!! ;)_

_***_

“First thing’s first. Look at the people around you.”

The boy sitting next to Harry has startlingly blue eyes, laced with long, dark lashes. Harry’s heart stutters in his chest and he drags his gaze away, back to Professor Grimshaw.

“Take a deep breath. Can you smell them?”

Harry does as the professor instructs, but, unsurprisingly, all he gets is chalk and paper and a hint of fruity perfume. Beside him, the blue-eyed boy takes a few deep breaths and then sighs.

Harry’s heart races. He wonders if the boy can smell him. It’s not unusual for someone to begin emanating weeks or even months before their coming of age. No one’s said anything to Harry yet, but it’s bound to happen at some point. He’s considered buying scent neutralizing spray, just in case.

“Even if you can’t scent now, there’s still good chance you’ll be able to by the end of the course. In fact, during the first semester at uni, it isn’t uncommon to find someone who smells _really, really_ good to you.”

The blue-eyed boy rolls his eyes. It’s rude. But also beautiful.

Harry wonders how he smells, whether his scent is as lovely as the conspiratorial smile he sends Harry when the professor continues.

“These people beside you will be your companions on a deeply personal journey of insight and self-discovery. When I took this course, I came out a whole new person. Nearly everyone does, if they’re open to it. I mean that seriously. You’ve got to be open to this process; let go of your cynicism and listen to your innermost self.”

Feeling bold, Harry leans closer to the blue-eyed boy and whispers, “I thought this was a university course, not some sort of religious cult.”

The boy twists toward him. He’s even lovelier full on. But then his gaze turns sharp, and, gesturing to the mess of unstyled curls atop Harry’s head, he says,“Maybe you need to open your mind.”

Harry flushes and looks away again. Okay, clearly not the right thing to say.

The professor is still talking. “On each of your desks is a syllabus and an introduction card. Please fill it out and then we’ll tackle this beast.” He slaps a copy of the thick syllabus that sits on his desk.

Harry flips through his own copy briefly, noting that today’s lesson is simply _Introduction(s),_ before switching his attention to his card. Everyone around him is already scribbling away. Harry glances over at the blue-eyed boy who pulls his pen away from his paper with a flourish. Is he already _finished_?

Harry sighs. Professor Grimshaw’s questions are short and straightforward. Harry jots down his name, age, and family dynamics straight away.

What does he hope to learn? Well, that’s simple: the basics of a/b/o dynamics. Yes, it’s also in the title of the course, but what is Harry supposed to say? He didn’t even really want to take the course in the first place; the university required it.

He shoots his gaze right and then left. Everyone in his sightline has written something in the line for ‘Dynamic.’ And, okay, so a lot of people find out their dynamic around their 18th birthday— the national average for Coming of Age is 18 and two months.

But it’s a first year course; surely not _everyone_ could know.

A couple of kids raise their hands, indicating that they’ve finished the brief assignment. The professor snatches up their cards and then holds them low against his thigh, where they can’t be read by snooping eyes.

The blue-eyed boy next to Harry is writing again. Harry can’t resist the urge to let his eyes trace the first couple of lines.

_Louis._

_18._

_Omega_.

Harry exhales sharply. A male omega. That’s _so_ rare. Not the most rare presentation, but pretty damn close.

He wants to stare at the boy, to ask him a thousand questions.

The boy on Harry’s other side raises his hand and the professor walks over to collect his card, sending Harry’s attention snapping back to his own paper.

He takes a deep breath and writes, _I haven’t really had my coming of age yet. I’m guessing I’ll present as a beta. My parents are a/o, but the gene seems to skip a generation. My older sister is a beta. All my grandparents were betas. (3/4 of my great-grandparents were a/o and one was an a/b.) So, I don’t know for sure, but beta seems most likely. I suppose I won’t know for sure until I start to scent._

He frowns at all he’s written, vaguely aware that nearly everyone else in the whole forty person seminar has finished and turned their papers in.

He scribbles all that out and just writes, _beta (probably)._

Professor Grimshaw is standing right there to collect Harry’s paper as soon as he’s finished, and, to Harry’s embarrassment, immediately says, “That should have been _more_ than enough of time. If you aren’t finished by now, please bring me your paper after class.”

He walks back to the desk at the front of the class and pulls up the syllabus with a dramatic crackle of paper.

“I know this introduction card may feel a little invasive, and unnecessarily so, but this assignment is not optional. The nature of this course is intensely personal and, while you’re not required to share more than you’re comfortable, the more you share, the more useful you’ll likely find the course to be. The university doesn’t collect any of what you share here for their records. What you choose disclose in this course is strictly confidential, unless you explicitly— in writing— state otherwise.”

Louis raises his hand.

Professor Grimshaw nods in his direction.

“How do we let you know? I mean, if we want things to be shared with the university administration?” He leans forward in his desk as he waits for his answer, his fringe sliding down to cover his forehead.

Harry gapes. He can’t imagine _wanting_ more people to know his experiences and innermost thoughts regarding sexual dynamics, especially when it’s all so uncertain and new. And he definitely doesn’t think he’d want the attention if he were something as unusual as a _male omega_. It must be awkward enough _without_ your name in the paper.

The corners of the professor’s mouth tick up into a smile. “Got something to say, eh?”

Louis takes a breath, and then begins, “Jesus, yes. So much. They’re really not nearly as accommodating in their practices as they seem to think they are. I mean, as a male omega—“

Probably sensing, as Harry does, that if given the floor, Louis would talk for hours, the professor cuts him off, “You can attach a note to any of your assignments that you wouldn’t mind sharing. But you should also know that the administration does not bring me into their offices to ask about the outcome of this course. If you have grievances you’d like aired, you should take those to the ombuds office.”

“The what?” Louis folds his arms across his chest. His cheeks are flushed and his chin squared, ready for a fight. Harry’s reminded of the way his omega mother stood up to the principal for him once in elementary after he’d accidentally wet his pants. His heart clenches with the ache of missing her, missing home.

“We can talk after class,” the professor assures him. “That goes for all of you. I know how difficult it is to adjust to a new place and new people at the same time as you’re adjusting to a new biological reality. My door is always, _always_ open.”

He glances down at the syllabus and scrunches up his face. “I’m supposed to read this with you, but I trust that you can read it on your own. I don’t want to waste the small amount of time we have together.”

The professor sets the syllabus down. Harry chances another glance at Louis. He’s doodling something- _a dick, maybe?_ \- on the top corner of his paper.

“Why don’t you get into groups— just with the people around you— and brainstorm everything you know or have heard about a/b/o dynamics. There are no wrong answers. You’re encouraged to put down things you’ve heard but that you know are wrong, too. Some of the most important work we’ll do in this course will be around dispelling stereotypes and myths.”

“Let’s do the four of us.”

Harry turns around to see a blond boy gesturing to himself, Harry, Louis, and a fourth boy with a buzz cut and tank top.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, moving his desk with a screech. Louis follows suit, but somehow he manages to do it gracefully (and silently).

Lots of people say that omegas move through the world like dancers, buoyant and balanced. Supposedly, they have a particular allure because of it, but Harry’s never noticed… before just now.

They introduce themselves and the blond, Niall, volunteers to take notes, pulling his phone out of his pocket and beginning to type.

“So what do we know?” Louis asks with a less than subtle sniff. “Well, let’s see. I’m an omega.”

Then, he nods at Liam, with the bare, broad shoulders, “You’re a beta.”

Finally, his gaze lands on Harry and Niall. “And you two haven’t presented yet.”

“I’m nearly guaranteed a beta,” Niall says, not looking up from his phone. “My closest a/o relative is a second cousin, once removed.”

“Me, too,” Harry chimes in. Three sets of eyes pin him and, for some reason, he feels like they’ve caught him in a lie. “I mean, my parents are a/o, but it always skips a generation in my family. ”

“Mate, having a/o parents means you’re almost guaranteed _not_ to be a beta,” Louis says, eyes now narrowed.

Harry feels like he’s under a microscope. “Not in my family. My older sister is a beta and so are my grandparents, like, _all four of them_.”

“Do you even understand how genetics work? Or probability? Because—”

“Okay, alright,” Niall breaks in. “He won’t know until he presents. Neither will I. I mean, that’s a basic fact we can write down: your family history makes some dynamics more or less likely, but it can’t accurately predict how or when you’ll present.”

Louis begins ticking facts off on his fingers. “Alphas are dickheads. Omegas are angels. Betas are boring.”

“What the heck, man?” Liam says. Then, he sees that Niall’s actually typing what Louis’ said and snatches his phone away. “You can’t just write that. That’s awful.”

“He did say we should include stereotypes,” Harry murmurs. “And those are definitely the stereotypes.”

Liam’s brows draw together. “But you can’t just say it. Maybe write down, ‘people say’ or something.” He hands back Niall’s phone with a measured frown.

“I think stereotypes become stereotypes because they point at something true,” Louis says, shooting Harry a soft smile.

Harry’s jaw drops. “What?”

Louis' presence— the way he’d spoken up in class and lead the group discussion— it’s not stereotypical omega behavior. And, anyway, Louis’ a _male_ omega.

“I’m obviously an angel, sweet and demure and docile.” He looks at Liam. “And this kid is less interesting than plain oatmeal.”

“That’s bullcrap,” Liam says.

Louis bursts out laughing. “I’m kidding. I’m only kidding. Of course, it’s all bullshit.”

Next to the notes he’s taken so far, Niall writes, _this is bullshit._

Which sets Liam off on another spiral of worry that their assignment won’t count if they use cuss words. He swears he’s not trying to be a wet blanket, he’s just very concerned about failing. In the last few minutes of group time, Harry and Louis and Niall attempt to use as many cuss words as possible. If Liam’s tomato face is anything to go by, they’re quite successful.

After class, Harry follows Louis out into the hallway and they walk shoulder to shoulder toward the main door. Given how chatty he’d been in class, Harry expects Louis to fill the space between them with words. But he doesn’t.

Harry steels himself and then says what’s been on his mind for the last few hours. “I think you’re incredibly brave.”

Louis slows his gait but doesn’t stop. He doesn’t meet Harry’s searching gaze either, but keeps his eyes focused on the exit.

“That’s a weird thing to say, probably.” Harry races to save them from backsliding into awkwardness. “I just mean for being so vocal about your dynamic. Like, talking about it in class and trying to fight for better conditions.”

Now, Louis does pause and, after a long, heart-stopping moment, he turns to look at Harry.

Harry grins at him. “You seem really confident is all. I like that.”

Louis says, “I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“What? What’s that got to do with anything? I wasn’t asking—“

“Yes, you were.” Louis lifts his hand to brush his fringe out of his face and Harry’s hit with a whiff of something sweet. Pleasure zips through him with such force that he loses his breath and begins to stiffen in his pants.

Harry blinks back at the sensation. _Is he presenting right here in the hallway outside his first dynamics class?_

He takes a deep, hopeful breath, but the scent’s disappeared.

“Smell something good?”

Louis really shouldn’t flirt with people if he doesn’t want to sleep with them, in Harry’s opinion. It could be confusing. (For someone else, not for Harry, because Harry also doesn’t want to sleep with Louis. So it’s, like, not even a thing.)

“Sorry, um. I just thought—“ Harry stops, not sure how much he wants to share with a stranger who’s just summarily rejected him. “Coming of age is weird.”

That seems to startle a laugh out of Louis. “Yeah, it is.”

“Well, listen,” Louis says, starting to walk again, through the heavy wooden doors of the building and down the steps to the courtyard. “It was really great to meet you. Apparently, we’re going to become quite close in this class. Which is fine. You seem nice, less boring than most people who want to be betas. But I mean what I said. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

Harry’s mind reels for a moment before catching up. “I wasn’t planning to ask you to sleep with me.”

“Yes, you were.” Louis tilts his head and Harry thinks he picks up another, fainter hint of the sweet scent from before. It’s less potent this time, thank god.

“I wasn’t even _thinking_ about sleeping with you,” Harry assures him.

Louis licks his lips. “Bet you are now.” And then he winks.

Harry’s eyes slide down to Louis’ ass as he turns to walk away. This time, Louis isn’t wrong. Harry now has a vivid picture of his cock sliding between Louis’ asscheeks, wet with slick.

Someone smacks him on the shoulder.

“Hey!” It’s Niall. “You okay, man?”

Harry blinks and tears his gaze away from Louis’ retreating figure. “Yeah. Um, yeah.”

“Let’s grab a bite and bond over being late bloomers,” Niall suggests.

A crowd passes while Niall waits for Harry to pull his shit together and answer.

Harry takes a deep breath. He can’t smell anything out of the ordinary anymore. Maybe the earlier scent was a fluke, or perhaps Louis’d been wearing, like, women’s deodorant or something.

“Yeah, okay,” he says.


	2. Week Two

_“This must sound strange, but I’ve always wanted to be an omega. Me and my mum, we’re so alike. Like_ really _really alike. Same brown hair. Same blue eyes. Same stupid laugh. Same sense of humor. Same sharp tongue. She’s an omega. So I always thought I’d be one, too._

_“When I was six I told my best friend James that I was probably an omega. Well, I found out later that he told his parents and they confronted my mum about it. They told her she should talk some sense into me and explain that little boys didn’t present as omegas— that this wasn’t something I should expect or even want._

_“I did want it, though, and even though it’s really hard to be understood and a lot of people treat me even worse than James’ parents, I’m really glad I presented this way. I think my mum is, too.”_

-From “Proud Omega: A Personal Essay about My Childhood and Coming of Age” by Louis Tomlinson

***

“How many of you knew what you’d present as when you were five?”

One hand shoots up. It’s Louis’. Harry stares at him. Or, rather, continues to stare at him. He’s barely been able to look elsewhere since he walked into the classroom.

He can’t stop thinking about what Louis had said as they’d parted last week, his insistence that Harry wanted to sleep with him.

“How many of you knew when you were ten?”

Toward the front of the classroom, two more hands shoot up.

“Thirteen?”

Three more hands.

“Sixteen?”

Another three.

“That’s about right, according to national statistics. You are a very representative group, in this regard. According to the latest numbers, one quarter of the population admits to being certain of their presentation at or before the age of sixteen.”

Harry isn’t sure what point Professor Grimshaw is trying to make, or if he’s trying to make any point at all. He is sure that the blue stripes on Louis’ shirt intensify the blue of his eyes.

Louis leans toward Harry. “I’m still not going to sleep with you.”

Harry jerks back from him. “I wasn’t even,” he hisses.

“Is there a problem?” Professor Grimshaw’s stopped his lecture to look at them.

“Harry was having trouble focusing on the material,” Louis announces. Harry feels every eye in the class turn on him. He’d like to crawl into a hole and die. Immediately.

It’s not even _true._ He has _notes._

“I know this can be a very confusing and arousing time in one’s life, but I feel confident that both you, Louis, and your friend Harry can put that aside for the sake of learning.”

A few students snicker, including Niall— which, in the last week, they’d had lunch three times and dinner twice and Harry’d thought they were becoming friends. Apparently he’d been wrong.

Harry steels himself. It’s his _grade_ on the line, after all. (And his dignity.) “I wasn’t having any trouble until Louis started being a dick.”

It’s a childish thing to say and Harry can feel his flush deepen. This is all Louis’ fault.

Professor Grimshaw doesn’t look amused. “I don’t care who started it. I want you both to shut it. If you’d like, we can all have a heart-to-heart after class.”

“I prefer to be called an ass,” Louis whispers, as soon as the attention is off them. This turns Harry’s mind back to the mental picture of Louis’ ass that he’d stored in his wank bank a week ago.

He wills himself not to get hard.

He’s mostly successful, until Professor Grimshaw instructs them to pair up.

“We should be together,” Louis tells Harry.

Harry gapes at him. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

Louis shakes his head, eyes wide and innocent. “Where did you get that idea? I told you I thought you were nice. Which is why I think we should pair up.”

“You told me you didn’t want to sleep with me. _Four times_.”

“I like plenty of people I don’t want to sleep with. My mom, for one.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t even ask you to sleep with me!” The unnecessary and, quite frankly, unjust rejection still stings.

“You would have.” Louis stares at him for a long moment. “You still might.”

Harry groans and buries his face in his hands. Voice muffled by his fingers, he says, “I don’t think I want to work with you.”

“Too bad. Everyone else is already paired up. You’re stuck with me.”

Harry gazes around the room, despairing to see that Louis is correct. “Fuck.”

“Jesus. Don’t be so disappointed. You should be happy. You like me,” Louis tells him.

“I like you,” Harry repeats, shaking his head. “I don’t _like_ you, okay. I mean, I like you. But I don’t _like_ like you, you know?”

Louis smirks at him.

“What’s the assignment? Let’s focus on that.”

“Sure,” Louis says, flipping through the syllabus to find the appropriate page. “Share your experience and understanding of a/b/o dynamics from childhood. How did you find out about them? How did your understanding and experience of them change from ages five to eighteen?”

Harry stares at Louis, expecting him to begin the sharing. But he doesn’t. Instead, he fidgets with his clothing and doesn’t meet Harry’s gaze.

“So, my parents are super typical a/o. I mean, they’re not traditional or anything, but they’re really, like, normal. They both worked until my mum got pregnant with my older sister and then she stopped to take care of her and then, later, both of us. My dad’s, um…”

Harry never knows how to talk about his dad.

“He’s in politics or something?” Louis says. “Niall told me.”

“Yeah. He was in the House of Commons for a few years. Now he’s running for mayor back home. He’s really friendly, but also really, like, assertive. He knows what he wants and he just goes for it. And he loves to do public speaking and go on TV and radio. Honestly, one of the reasons I’m so sure I’m going to be a beta is because I’m nothing like him.”

“You could be like me,” Louis tells him with a wink.

Harry chokes out a laugh. “You wouldn’t say that if you’d seen me dance.”

Louis wiggles his eyebrows. “I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? You and me, at the club.”

Harry huffs. “Honestly, with how much you keep bringing it up, I think _you_ want _me_.”

Louis frowns, his playful demeanor crashing to the floor. “I’m serious, Styles. I’m not going to sleep with you.”

“Great!” Harry tugs at his hair. “I don’t want to sleep with you, either. So we’re all in agreement.”

They stare at each other. It occurs to Harry that they’re both breathing hard and he doesn’t know why.

“I’m sorry.” Louis says, looking away. “It’s like you said last week, coming of age can be really confusing. All the scents and everything— it’s like—“

Harry waits for him to continue, but he doesn’t.

Finally, Louis shrugs. “Yeah, I’m sorry. I won’t say it again. I mean, unless you _do_ ask.”

“It’s fine,” Harry says. “And I won’t be asking, so…”

Louis reaches up to brush at his fringe and that sweet scent, the one that’s been haunting Harry’s (wet) dreams for a week, hits him again. It’s like a fucking _sex_ _drug_ , how fast it makes him hard.

Louis’ gaze meets Harry’s. Can he smell it, too? Does it make _him_ this hard?

Harry closes his eyes and swallows. He knows that’s a stupid thought because if Harry _is_ starting to scent, then it’s probably _Louis_ that he’s smelling, and of course Louis wouldn’t be able to scent himself.

“Um,” Harry struggles to manage his thoughts, to push them away from slick asses and hard dicks. “Tell me about your childhood?”

Louis takes a deep breath and then launches into a colorful description of his mum. The topic’s effect as a boner killer is mitigated by the laugh lines by Louis’ eyes and the fluffy fall of his hair.

~

“Fucking alphas,” Louis says, tapping his fingers against the desk, with a bitter sort of impatience.

“They’re not so bad,” Liam counters. He’s flipping through the textbook in front of him to the chapter titled _Alpha Biology._ ”

“I wish we’d at least been assigned the historical and societal attitudes part of the presentation. Who cares what their dicks do?”

“I would think you would,” Niall chokes a little on the words, but his gaze is on his phone and his expression is relaxed.

When Louis simply stares at him instead of replying, Niall clarifies, eyes ticking upward, “Because of, like, your heat, or whatever.”

Louis gazes around the circle. “Here’s fact number one. Remember this one. Write it down.”

Harry hasn’t said a word since Professor Grimshaw assigned them a topic for their group presentation. He’d kind of been hoping to learn more about beta biology, but he supposes that will come in due time, anyway.

“Harry!” Louis says. “Are you listening? Pen to paper.”

Dutifully, Harry puts his pen to the piece of notebook paper in front of him.

“Alright, good.” Louis nods. “Here it is: not all omegas need, or even _want_ , a knot, at any time, even during their heats.”

Liam and Niall jot down what Louis’ said. Liam even asks him to repeat it back a few times.

Harry does not.

“Well, obviously there are exceptions to every rule,” Harry says. “But it’s still true that most omegas feel relieved when they’re given a knot during heat. I read that in the textbook.”

Louis glares at him, hiding a glimmer of humor in the curve of his mouth. “You think you’re smart? Been reading ahead? You want to write the outline of the project for us all, then?”

“I wasn’t reading ahead,” Harry protests. “Honestly, I was just flipping through and I saw something about that.”

Louis’ eyes narrow and his smile sharpens. “You totally _were_ reading ahead. You skipped to the sex bits, didn’t you? After our conversation, you went right to the section on omega sexual behavior. Jerked off to the description of heat, didn’t you?”

Harry gapes at him.

Liam clears his throat.

“I—“ Harry begins, but he doesn’t even know what to say to that.

“No, need to be ashamed,” Niall says. “I’ve definitely watched a/o porn before.”

As if that’s the same thing.

“Little different than getting off to an instruction manual, don’t you think?” Louis says.

Harry kicks out to toe Louis in the shin. He means for the motion to be subtle and graceful, but he misses and hits the leg of Louis’ desk instead.

~

Harry stands and stretches, twisting his body in Niall’s direction.

“Hey, so.” Louis taps Harry’s shoulder.

Harry twists in his direction, back cracking. “Yeah?”

“Let’s get lunch at the union.” Louis’ packing his things into his shoulder bag and when Harry doesn’t answer immediately, he glances up with a wiggle of his brows.

Louis heaves the bag up onto his shoulder and Harry’s hit with another whiff of that scent. This time, he doesn’t develop a boner immediately, but— he draws an unsteady breath— it probably won’t take long.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah.”

Louis nods his head toward the door. Harry finds himself trailing after Louis, feeling a bit like a confused puppy.

Louis sticks close to Harry’s side while they get their food, never more than a few inches away. Several times their elbows brush.

It isn’t until they’re seated with their lunches in front of them that Harry realizes it’s just the two of them. Niall and Liam are nowhere to be found.

Harry stomach flips. He finds Louis fascinating. He could listen to him talk for hours and hours. His face could cover the walls of museums and attract art enthusiasts and students from around the world.

Of course people say things about male omegas, about how dazzlingly, blindingly attractive they are, but Harry assumed that was because they were so _unusual._ They’re still just people.

Except that Louis isn’t ‘just’ anything.

“Tell me why _you_ hate alphas,” Louis says, biting into a slice of pizza.

“I don’t ‘hate’ alphas,’” Harry protests, swirling his soup around with his spoon and avoiding Louis’ gaze.

“Yes, you do. You were pissed when Professor Grimshaw assigned us them as our topic. You were more pissed than me.”

Harry shrugs. He’s not wrong.

“Listen,” Louis says, leaning toward across the the table. If he isn’t careful, his forearm will be covered in tomato sauce. (Of course, he _is_ careful, easily avoiding a common Harry mess.) “I _like_ that you hate alphas. We’re on the same page. I hate them because I’ve seen how they can fuck omegas around, like with my mum and stuff, and they’re always aggressively trying to sleep with me.”

“Really?” Harry looks up. “What does that even mean, ‘aggressively trying to sleep with you’?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nice try, buddy. We’re talking about _you_.”

Harry holds Louis’ gaze for a moment before looking out the window and into the courtyard. A few of the trees are covered in yellowing leaves, but most are green as summer.

“I guess it’s mostly what I said earlier, about my dad. Alphas all seem to know what they want and go for it, no matter the consequences. And they often end up hurting people or leaving people behind.”

“Like you?”

Harry’s gaze snaps to Louis. Louis face softens into a small, encouraging smile.

“We moved a lot as a kid,” Harry says. “So everywhere we went I was always the new kid, but also the kid that everyone’s parents had told them about because they’d read about my dad in the papers. Everyone wanted to get to know me, but no one really wanted to be my friend.”

“That sucks,” Louis says. He’s finished with his pizza. Two cookies sit on the edge of his plate but he doesn’t go for them. “I know what you mean, though, about people wanting to get to know you, but not wanting to be your friend? It didn’t happen so much as a kid. But after my coming of age… it feels more like I’m a curiosity than a person.”

Harry looks up. “Exactly. I hate feeling like I’m a specimen, like everyone’s looking at me.”

Louis bites his lip. “For me, it’s less about that. I don’t mind being the center of attention.”

“Yeah, I got that the first day of class,” Harry says, remembering how quickly Louis’ hand shot up into the air, how easily he’d admitted to _wanting_ his thoughts and feelings out there for the world to see.

“But I want people to know the _real_ me, not the person that they expect me to be, not the stereotype.”

“What do you want people to know?” Harry asks, starting in on his soup. He’s eager to push the conversation back in Louis’ direction.

“I don’t know— normal stuff. Not just what a heat is like for male omegas, or whether I’ve ever taken a knot up my ass.”

An image of his cock sliding into Louis’ ass flashes before him and Harry drops his spoon with a clatter. He takes a sip of water, and rubs a hand on his thighs, subtly adjusting his half-hard cock.

“Normal stuff?”

“You know, like what my hobbies are, what kinds of movies I like. I want people to be curious about my family and what I’m hoping to do in the future. The kind of stuff you’d want to know about any other new friend.”

“I want to know that stuff,” Harry says. And he does— as much as he wants to know about heats and slick and knotting— he also wants to know the ‘normal stuff.’ “Tell me.”

Louis gazes at him for a moment, judging.

Harry thinks he’s about to say it again, _I’m not going to sleep with you_ , but he doesn’t.

Instead, Louis says, “Okay.”


	3. Week Three

_“My coming of age happened in three stages. My mum was the first one who scented me. They say sometimes the people closest to you are the last to know because their nearness blurs the situation. That wasn’t the case for us. My mum pays really close attention to me. She could tell that I’d be an omega from the very first sniff, but she didn’t share that with me, not right away, at least._

_Second, I went into heat. Thankfully, I noticed the changes in my body first thing in the morning, before even getting out of bed. Because my mum had always been so open with me about her own experience of heats, I knew exactly what was happening (even though, yes, it does happen slightly differently for male omegas). I was able to jot my mum a quick note about what was happening before locking myself in my room to ~~ride things out.~~ take care of myself. _

_As an aside, I know a lot of people complain about heats. Some things about them do suck, like the fact that you have no control over when they will happen. But, honestly, I really enjoy myself during them. Not to get explicit or pornographic, but I feel pretty lucky to be an omega._

_Third, when I came out of my heat, I could suddenly scent everyone! It was so overwhelming at first, especially when I was in the room with more than one or two alphas. Thankfully, before starting university, this didn’t happen very often and I had some time to get used to everything before being thrown into the deep end.”_

-From “Proud Omega: A Personal Essay about My Childhood and Coming of Age” by Louis Tomlinson

***

Harry places his essay in the stack on Professor Grimshaw’s desk, with a little bit of reluctance. He’d like to re-read it one more time, maybe delete some of the more personal stuff that he’d left in it. Professor Grimshaw says he understands where they’re coming from and that he won’t hold any of their opinions or experiences against them, but Harry’s not so sure.

Saying what he feels about his family— that he struggles with the choices his dad made for them over the years, that he doesn’t want a typical a/o marriage like his parents, that he desperately hopes he’ll be a beta— makes his heart pound and his palms sweat.

The only other person he’s ever told any of it to is Louis.

“You guys are lucky,” Liam says, sliding into the seat behind Louis. “Harry and Niall, I mean. Your essays didn’t have to cover as much since you haven’t had your coming of age yet. I was up all night typing mine up.”

“We still had the same length requirements,” Harry reminds him. He sort of wished he _had_ a coming of age experience to fill space.

“Yeah, but like— it’s not like I wanted to talk about all that.”

Louis twists in his chair. “Your coming of age didn’t involve ass juice, so I don’t want to hear it.”

“We all have to deal with the same _smells,_ though,” Liam said. “Like, I couldn’t stand to be around my sister for a few days. Had to stay with a friend. Omegas were just, like, too sweet for me or something.”

“That seems a little dramatic,” Harry says. He can’t imagine moving out because of someone else’s smell. But then he hasn’t had his coming of age yet.

Niall sniffs in Liam’s general direction. “I think I might be moving in on my coming of age. Do people usually say you smell like fried chicken?”

Liam’s brows draw together. “My mum says I’m pretty neutral. A little piney, maybe.”

Louis sniffs. “I smell it, too.”

Harry frowns because, actually, he _also_ smells chicken on Liam. Maybe the little whiffs he got last week in class were really the start of something.

“I’m pretty sure I don’t smell like chicken,” Liam says, folding his arms across his chest.

Louis catches Harry’s gaze and his eyes flick down for less than a second. Harry follows suit. Beneath Liam’s desk is a KFC bag.

“I think I might be hitting my coming of age, too, because, yeah, you _reek_ of fried chicken.” Harry tries to coach his expression into something neutral, but he feels the smile twitching up the corners of his mouth.

Face read, Liam says, “I really, really don’t think--”

Niall picks up the KFC bag from under Liam’s desk and throws it at him. “False alarm,” he says with a laugh.

Liam catches it and groan. “You _guys_.”

“How do you _know,_ though?” Harry asks. “Like, how do you know that you’re scenting, as opposed to just smelling normal things? I know that’s really the only way betas know that they’ve presented, but I’m sort of afraid I’m so dumb I’ll miss it.”

Both Liam and Louis laugh.

“You won’t miss it,” Louis says. “I promise.”

“How did _you_ know?” Harry asks Louis.

“Alright. Time to get started,” Professor Grimshaw moves to the front of the classroom and rubs his hands together.

“That’s a little personal,” Louis hisses.

Harry remembers what the reading had stated about many omegas first presenting not by scenting, but through a heat. He resists the urge to glance at Louis, but he pictures it anyway: fringe sweat-stuck to his forehead, skin pink, naked on his bed, with a pile of slick-wet toys beside him.

He’s hard.

Professor Grimshaw’s asking for volunteers to share a few words about their experiences with a/b/o dynamics as children and Harry’s _painfully_ hard _._

He finds himself with the same question he’d had the first day of class: is he close enough to presenting that others in the class can scent him?

Then, a second, even more alarming thought strikes Harry: what’s the likelihood that he _is_ an alpha or an omega, meaning his arousal would thicken his scent for other a/o’s in the vicinity?

Just when he thinks things can’t get any worse, that sweet scent, the one that’s been plaguing him since he’d walked out with Louis two weeks ago, teases his senses. Stupidly, he takes a breath, chasing it.

 _Fuck_.

He casts a quick glance down to his lap and, yep, he can see the outline of his cock clearly against the khaki fabric covering his thigh. There’s even a little wet spot at the tip.

He tries to focus on what’s happening in the classroom, but some beta in the back of the class is murmuring a childhood story he can barely hear about … Harry doesn’t have a fucking clue because Louis leans toward him.

“You okay?” he asks.

Can he see Harry’s dick? (Of course, he can’t. It’s below his desk.)

Harry shoots him a wild grin. “Fine.”

“Cool,” Louis replies, but his gaze sticks to Harry, honey-thick and hot.

~

Louis’ room is too small for this.

Liam’s sprawled on the couch, Niall on the floor, while Louis reclines in his desk chair. Which means, somehow, Harry’s been relegated to Louis’ loft bed, which smells like a teenage boy’s been sleeping and jerking off in it for weeks without changing the sheets.

Liam’d suggested they each take a section of the textbook chapter on alpha biology, read it, and report back. Harry’d been the only one to do so in advance of their first group meeting, so the other three are currently buried in their books playing catch up.

Meanwhile, Harry’s watching the words on the page of his own text blur together and trying desperately not to picture Louis lying in this exact spot, naked, with his fingers sliding in and out of his slick ass.

The one benefit of Harry’s position is that he’s got easy access to blankets and pillows for the purpose of covering unruly boners.

He pulls the duvet over his lap.

“I knew it,” Louis says.

Harry glances down to find him looking straight back. “What?”

“I knew you wanted to get into my bed.” Louis glances back down at his text.

Harry gapes at him. “That’s not—“

“It says here that 50% of alphas report discovering their dynamic while masturbating. Do you that’s because they notice a knot?” Louis’ voice rings a little pitchy.

Harry throws a pillow at him. “Gross.”

“This diagram,” Niall says. “I think it looks sick.”

Harry knows the one he’s talking about— on page 145, a line drawing of an erect penis with a knot at the base. He’d taken a good look at it on his own time.

“‘My dad says he knew he’d be an alpha because of the way he always felt competitive with other alphas growing up— even before he reached his official coming of age,” Harry remembers.

Another item on the long list of reasons Harry’s fairly certain he won’t present that way.

He’s competitive, sure, especially with school, but dynamic doesn’t matter to him at all.

“That’s good,” Louis says, looking up at Harry again. “We should put that in our presentation. The only thing I know from experience about alphas is that you should stay the hell away from them before their ruts. They are some nasty pieces of work.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks. He’d heard his favorite radio host talk this way about an alpha friend, but Harry’s dad never seemed too out of sorts.

“Both my mum’s exes used to get so fucking testy the week leading up their ruts. I once asked Steve if he wanted some cheerios and he took the box, tore it open, and dumped it in the garbage.”

“I never knew cheerios could inspire such passion.” Niall sounds a little awed.

“Sounds like he had a screw loose. I don’t think that has anything to do with ruts,” Harry says, flipping to the section about them in the textbook. It’d been assigned to Louis, so Harry hasn’t read it closely yet.

“Some alphas claim to get hyper aggressive around their ruts,” Harry reads aloud, “but there’s no biological explanation for this. Kenneth Roths, who studied alpha biology at Stanford in the 1970s, argued that this kind of combative behavior is culturally shaped (more details in Chapter 14: Societal Attitudes).”

Louis huffs. “You would have thought those cheerios murdered his mum or something, the way he tossed them.”

“That’s it? He was only angry about _cheerios_?” Especially after reading the text, Harry has a difficult time believing this.

Louis sighs. “My mum thought it might also have been because he was a perv. I was nearing my coming of age and wandering around the house in my boxers.”

The room is silent for a few long moments before Louis adds a shrill, “I mean, it was _my_ house. I should _be able_ to wear whatever’s comfortable.”

“In the days leading up to a rut, Alphas claim to experience urges to act— violently and without consent— on their sexual desires. These claims seem to be substantiated by study after study. However, Roths cautioned that such claims do not necessarily indicate a biological reality and may instead point to yet another culturally shaped alpha experience. He pointed to several African cultures in which the omega claims an alpha mate, instead of the other way around.”

“We can all read,” Louis says.

Harry slams shut his book. “Sorry, yeah. I just— it seemed relevant to the conversation.”

Louis is picking at a fraying string on the hem of his tee-shirt. Late afternoon sunlight streams in through his window casting him in an angelic glow and Harry feels bad for making him feel bad.

An alarm rings. Liam’s.

“I’ve got to run to dinner before Spanish class. Why do they think having language classes at night is a good idea?” He asks, packing up his stuff.

“What if we all put together notes on our assigned sections for next time? Find a couple of pictures for the presentation that relate to our part of the reading?” Loathe though Harry is to spend more time than absolutely necessary delving into the topic of alpha biology, he does want to get a good grade on this assignment.

“I call the dick pick,” Niall says.

“We’re not putting a picture of a penis in our presentation,” Liam huffs, tightening the straps of his backpack.

“How will the other students learn what a knot looks like if we leave it out?” Louis asks.

Harry makes the mistake of glancing down at him. He’s turned his textbook to the picture in question and is running his finger up and down the length of the dick.

Harry’s cock, which had softened during the conversation about cheerios, perks right back up.

“Mind if I tag along to dinner?” Niall asks. He’s tucking a pen into the front compartment of his own backpack. Then to the room at large he says, “Maybe we all can go?”

“Actually,” Louis says. “I wanted to show something to Harry. Raincheck?”

Harry’s heart thuds in his chest. He’s in Louis’ bed and Louis isn’t kicking him out. In fact, he’s asking him to stay longer. He sneaks a hand under the blanket to press down on his cock, willing it to behave.

Even before the door closes behind them, Louis climbs up the ladder and lands on the loft bed, sprawling out so that he’s half in Harry’s lap.

The sweet scent that’s been taunting Harry for weeks is practically radiating off Louis’ body.

“You smell good,” Harry says.

Louis makes an odd noise in the back of his throat and Harry realizes his mistake.

“That’s not— I’m not trying to proposition you,” Harry backtracks. “I just noticed… it. So…”

Louis licks his lips. His tongue is pointy and pink and Harry imagine it tracing circles around his nipples. “Are you starting to present, then?”

Harry draws in a breath. The air is filled with Louis’ scent and Louis’ knee is less than inch for pressing into Harry’s cock. “I’m not. At least, I don’t think. It’s really only you— I thought it just might be a body wash or something?”

Louis leans back on his elbows, his fringe falling off his face. His eyes are so blue. “I don’t bathe.”

“What?” Harry coughs. His eyes travel up and down Louis. Since coming to school, Harry’s met hippies. He knows many take personal hygiene as an affront to nature. Louis does not seem the type at all. He seems very clean.

“I’m fucking with you,” Louis says. “I just use your basic Dove, like a lot of people. No cologne or anything.”

Harry shrugs. That didn’t _seem_ like the type of thing to catch his attention and make him stiffen in his pants.

But he doesn’t want to think about the implications of Louis’ statement, about the fact that maybe, just maybe, Harry is starting to scent and the first person to catch his attention is the most unattainable person he’s ever encountered.

Louis watches Harry for a few more long seconds. Harry thinks his eyes might be trained on Harry’s mouth. Heart pounding, he wonders, might Louis _kiss_ him?

That seems impossible, what with the number of times Louis’ insisted that he doesn’t want to sleep with Harry. And yet now that Harry’s thinking about it, he knows that the image will haunt him.

“So you’re probably wondering what I wanted to show you,” Louis says with a shake of his head.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees even though, in truth, he’d forgotten his reason for staying in the first place.

Louis lifts the corner of his mattress and pulls out a small notebook. “I noticed that you have a couple of tattoos.”

Harry glances at the ink on his arm. “Yeah.”

“I’m not really a tattoo person, but I’ve been thinking that maybe I want to commemorate, like, my independence or whatever, with something permanent.”

He’s flipping through his notebook, fringe falling into his face again. Harry wants to push it back, but he doesn’t.

Finally, Louis opens to a page of doodles. He taps a small triangle in the upper right hand corner of the page. “What do you think of this?”

It’s a common representation of omega pride.

Harry smiles. “I think it’s cool.”

“I’m thinking about my ankle. Do you think that would be too painful?” Louis rushes to add. “This is really what I wanted to ask, since you already have tattoos and all.”

Harry tilts his head. “I think you could handle it.”

Louis swallows and then he smiles. “Thanks. I think I’ll do it.”


	4. Week Four

_~~What I learned today is that betas are boring. Well, I guess I didn’t learn that. I already knew it.~~ _

_One thing I learned is that different betas have different experiences of their coming of age, but they usually start by scenting others because they mostly give off neutral odors ~~(THIS IS SO TRUE!!)~~ that you have to work to pick up. Alphas and omegas on the other hand, give off distinct odors you don’t even have to try to pick out . _

_One thing I’m confused about is if some betas never actually present. The group speaking about biology said that some betas never develop the ability to scent others and do not give off a scent themselves. How do these people know whether or not they are a beta or they just haven’t presented as an alpha or omega? We learned last week that 97% of people present before their 25th birthday, but what about that other 3%. What’s the latest anyone has ever presented?_

_This isn’t really relevant to my life at all, but I’m curious and wish the group had talked about it a little._

_-_ Group Presentation Evaluation, Beta Biology, Louis Tomlinson

***

“In Ancient China, alphas _and_ omegas were kept as slaves by the ruling class, which was made up entirely of betas.” The girl speaking clicks to the next slide, which depicts a man with a large adam’s apple, broad shoulders, and an obscene bulge in his pants, on his knees and in chains.

Harry can’t look away.

Louis kicks his shin. “You like that?”

Harry does, indeed, like that, and he finds himself nodding before he realizes what he’s admitting to and to whom.

“Thought so,” Louis mutters. “You seem like the type of beta that would want an alpha as a pet.”

Harry wrinkles his nose and takes another long look at the slide before the girl presenting clicks to the next.

“I don’t think—“ Harry begins, in a whisper. Professor Grimshaw twists around in his seat in the front row and shoots Harry and Louis a sharp glance.

Harry finds a piece of paper- the back of an old exam- and writes, _I don’t think I’d want to be—_

He stops. Putting his current thoughts- which involve being chained up, pressed to his knees, and compelled into sexual servitude- into writing seems like a bad idea.

Louis sneaks a hand over and grabs the paper out from in front of Harry. His eyes scan the page and then he kicks Harry in the shin again. He’s not looking at Harry when he does it, so Harry’s not sure what it means.

A few seconds later, the exam’s set back in front of Harry. Underneath Harry’s half formed thought, Louis’ written the words, _I can’t believe you want_ _to be a beta._

Another girl’s taken over the presentation to talk about how she was received in her mostly a/o family when she came of age and presented as a beta. As she talks, Harry wonders if Gemma had the same experience, if their mum had expressed disappointment. He doesn’t think so. Their parents thrown her a party, same as she would’ve gotten if she’d presented as an omega, and their dad choked up during his host toast.

To Louis, Harry writes, _beta life seems simpler. :)_

Upon reading this, Louis rolls his eyes and balls up the paper with a loud crackle. Professor Grimshaw turns around at the sound, but he doesn’t see anything out of order because Louis is quick with his hands.

After class, Niall rounds the four of them up to check in. They’ve all finished their notes; Harry’s even read everyone else’s.

Liam can’t meet that day— he’s got a cappella practice— so they agree to gather in a study room at the library the following evening.

Liam rushes off whistling and then the three of them head out together— Niall, Louis, and Harry. When the path splits, Louis’ dorm in one direction and Harry and Niall’s usual lunch spot in the other, Louis stops and rubs at his chin.

Harry wonders what the rough stubble would feel like against his own fingertips.

“Harry,” Louis says.

Both Niall and Harry watch him, waiting. Other students brush past them and Harry’s vaguely aware that they’re blocking the sidewalk.

“Louis,” Harry says, when Louis lets several long seconds pass without continuing.

“I could use your help on something,” Louis says, “like, for class.”

“What is it?” Niall asks. “Harry’s told me that he’s absolutely overloaded with midterms this week. Maybe I can help.”

Louis wrinkles his nose- a quick snap of a motion that Harry almost misses- and says, “Oh, no. That’s— I’m sure I can manage on my own.”

Harry thinks about sitting on Louis’ bunk, about the sweet smell that’s been haunting him ever since.

“Actually, I have some time this afternoon.” He doesn’t. He’s going to fail calculus.

“No you—“ Niall begins to say, but Harry cuts him off with a glare and he finishes, “Of course, yeah. Cool.”

“I have some uncrustables and chocolate milk in my room if you want to go there straight away,” Louis suggests.

Harry’s been imaging a cheeseburger and fries for the last two hours. Still, “That sounds perfect.” It’s not even a lie; soggy peanut butter sandwiches with Louis _in his room_ sounds better than nearly anything else ever has.

With a little wave, Niall says, “I’m off then. See you at dinner, Harry?”

Harry nods, but he’s watching Louis. He can smell him, suddenly, sweet and warm, and his heart pounds in his chest. He thinks he might be doing something very, very stupid.

On the way back to Louis’ dorm, Louis asks him about his midterms and Harry finds himself expelling boatloads of math-related anxiety into the atmosphere.

Louis doesn’t even blink. He’s a fellow math-hater and, unlike Harry, doesn’t have to suffer through any of it in order to earn his degree in early childhood education.

The more Louis talks, the more in awe Harry becomes. Louis seems to have his whole life planned out— he’s an omega, but he doesn’t want to settle down immediately. He wants to work with kids, travel during the summers, and then, when he’s thirty or so, settle down near his mum and sisters and begin to look for a mate.

Harry’s future feels more like a dense jungle than a straight path. He wants to mate- but he doesn’t know his presentation yet and he’s never considered putting out a timeline. (How can you plan when you will fall in love?) He hasn’t chosen a course of study— one day he’s excited about lit, another about finance, and the next biology.

As he shoulders open the door to his building, Louis says, “You really think you might like to be a banker? They’re literally _evil_!”

Harry steps in past Louis, a wave Louis’ sweet scent hitting him and reminding him that it’s polite to hold doors for omegas, not the other way round.

He dutifully opens the next door for Louis and the next, meanwhile doubling back to defend himself. “I don’t know for sure. I also might like to study dolphins. But maybe I could do more good in the banking world? Make change from the inside?”

Louis barks out a laugh. Harry didn’t think he’d said anything particularly funny, but he’s pleased and pink nonetheless.

As Louis fumbles through his shoulder bag looking for his keys, Harry says, “Actually, I was talking with my advisor last week about doing a teaching course, like you.”

Louis pulls free a lanyard, keys jangling triumphantly at the end of it. “Teaching’s great. I worked with four and five year olds in the afternoons during my last year of college and it was so fun to see them learn new things.”

Harry frowns. For how outspoken Louis is about omega rights, teaching small children seems like a terribly stereotypical omega career path. He would have though Louis wanted to be an activist or politician. He doesn’t say so, though, for fear of being rude.

As he steps in Louis’ room, Louis’ scent surrounds him.

He can’t deny it any longer; he’s hitting his coming of age.

Louis putters about the room and Harry, wanting to avoid last week’s dilemma of The Bed, lays out on the couch, folding his hands across his belly.

He closes his eyes. He’ll know for sure, soon, that he’s a beta.

His whole body itches with excitement at the thought— too much to contain-- and he pops back up again to hover over Louis’ shoulder as he pulls out the sandwiches and milk.

“What’s gotten into you?” Louis asks. “You look like you’ve got ants in your pants.”

Harry giggles. “Have you ever had ants in your pants? I sat on an ant hill once. Never making that mistake again.”

“Can’t say that I’ve had the pleasure,” Louis says, handing Harry a sandwich and a carton of milk. He sits on the couch cross-legged and begins to unwrap his lunch.

Harry follows suit and their knees touch.

He contemplates telling Louis that he can smell him. Scent— particularly someone else’s— is not usually a polite topic of conversation, but Harry’s just realized that he’s coming of age. The urge to share this realization claws at his insides.

“What do you think of Professor Grimshaw?” Louis asks.

Harry twists to look him and Louis pauses mid-bite.

Around his sandwich, Louis says, “What? It’s just a question?”

Harry chews his lip and then takes a bite of his own sandwich. After swallowing it down with a gulp of milk, he says, “I think he’s alright. Really friendly.”

“I think he’s on suppressants,” Louis bursts.

Harry gapes at him. He’s heard of them, of course, but he’s never known anyone who actually used them. As far as he knows, they’re mostly prescribed to omegas to put off their heats.

“You can’t tell what he is? Maybe he hasn’t presented yet.” But even as he says it, Harry remembers Professor Grimshaw talking about his own difficulties during his coming of age.

“I think he’s a male omega, like me,” Louis says. He’s finished one sandwich and started on another.

“Why?” Harry asks. Male omegas are so rare.

Louis shrugs. “I mean, why else would he be on suppressants? Also, the way he talks about some stuff about his childhood.” Louis pauses. “He invited me to his office to talk several times. I haven’t gone yet. But I think he wants to bond, or, like, mentor me, or something.”

“Maybe he thinks you’re hot.” Harry takes another bite of sandwich and then another, eyes trained on Louis’ rug. He’s afraid Louis’ gonna say it again— that he doesn’t want to sleep with Harry— and this time Harry might deserve it.

Instead, Louis says, “Yeah, no. Don’t think that’s it.”

Harry laughs. “What makes you so sure?”

Louis licks his lips and Harry traces the motion with his eyes. He’s so desperately aware of Louis’ scent and he’s afraid that his half-hard cock is about to thicken into a noticeable boner.

“I can nearly always tell when someone is into me,” Louis says.

Harry swallows and glances away, flushing. He fights off the urge to apologize— it’s not his fault his body’s so into Louis and it’s not like he’s _acting_ on it!

“What were you going to say about that pic in the presentation today? The one with the beta and the alpha sex slave?” Louis sounds like he’s got peanut butter stuck in his throat.

Harry’s face becomes hotter still. Without looking at Louis, he sets his milk down on the floor and grips his thighs, digging his nails in.

“I thought it was kind of hot.” That seems like a safe enough admission.

“You want to mate an alpha or omega, tie ‘em up and stuff?” Louis finishes his second sandwich. He’s asks this in the same tone of voice he’d spoken about Harry’s dream of becoming a banker. That is to say, he sounds bored and unimpressed.

Harry shakes his head. “No.”

Louis narrows his eyes and takes a sip of milk. When he lowers the carton, he has a chocolate mustache. It looks silly.

But also Harry wants to lick it off.

“You just like the look of the people in it? H, it was a black and white photo! And the people in it looked kind of old, to be honest.”

Harry chokes out a laugh, heart fluttering at Louis’ use of a nickname. “No, like..”

He takes a breath to clear his head, but it doesn’t help because Louis’ scent seems to have become even more potent.

“Spit it out,” Louis says and his nostrils flare.

The motion throws Harry’s thoughts completely off the track. Can Louis scent _him_?

He probably can. If Harry can smell Louis, it seems logical that Louis can also smell Harry.

Maybe he _knows_ how Harry’s presented.

“Come on,” Louis whines. “You’ve got me all curious now.”

Harry blinks, mind spiraling back to the photograph.

“This is so embarrassing. Why do you even care?” Harry asks.

Louis taps his bag of books. “Research. This week I’m supposed to be learning about betas. So tell me more about what it’s like to be a beta.”

Does this mean that he can smell that Harry’s a beta? The thought causes Harry’s heart to sink a bit, but he doesn’t understand why. “I don’t understand how my sexual preferences are relevant to class.”

Louis takes another long drink of milk and this time he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. When he looks back to Harry, he shrugs. “I guess I’m just curious. I always thought that most betas liked vanilla missionary sex.”

“As opposed to the wild, kinky sex that male omegas favor?” Harry asks. He slaps a hand over his mouth. “I’m sorry. I know—“

Louis cuts him off with a loud laugh. “I mean, maybe?” Then, he adds. “If I could be the one doing the tying, not the one being tied, at least.”

Harry’s eyes dart to his face and then down to his lap. Fuck, but he’s hard now, picturing it: Louis standing over Harry, Harry’s hands tied behind his back as he sucks Louis off or, better yet, licks him out.

“Jesus Christ,” Louis hisses. And then, “I’m sorry. I crossed a line.”

Harry doesn’t respond. Louis definitely _did_ cross a line and if he really doesn’t want to sleep with Harry, he probably shouldn’t say things like that to him. But at the same time, Harry kind of hopes maybe he’s changing his mind? Testing the waters?

Harry takes a deep breath and then clutches at his thighs, relishing the soft burn. “Um. You invited me back cause you wanted my help with something?”

“Oh.” Louis clears his throat. “I nearly forgot.” He reaches for his bag. Harry watches his shirt ride up and reveal a sliver of skin at his hip.

“What is it?”

“I wanted someone more familiar with beta biology to look over my assignment for today— make sure I didn’t, like, write anything crazy wrong or offensive or something.”

Harry’s brows draw together. “You could have asked Niall or Liam. They probably know a lot more than me. I mean, I haven’t even presented yet, so…”

Louis huffs, clutching his paper in his lap. “Will you check over it or not?”

Harry bites his lip. He takes the paper from Louis hands. “I can, yeah.”


	5. Week Five

_I came into today’s class very skeptical. Not one member of either of the groups speaking on omegas has presented as an omega themselves. I worried that betas and alphas might rely heavily on stereotypes instead of scientific research. Luckily, they mostly avoided this. Mostly._

_Their description of heats were great. As I mentioned before, I get so angry when they’re talked about like some sort of hell-fire punishment. (I don’t mind them much and I imagine that I’d adore_ _them if I had a special someone to help me through them!) I’m curious— is this a common stereotype because alphas experience their ruts this way? I do suspect that ruts must be miserable, given how my mum’s boyfriends acted around their ‘seasonal,’ but I don’t want to make assumptions because I hate when they’re made about me._

 _My only problem with the group’s presentation was that I didn’t think they spent nearly enough time on current societal attitudes. They talked a lot about how omegas had been oppressed in the UK in the past and then they seemed to suggest that things are much better now. While they are better_ _now, they’re not perfect. I hope we’ll have the opportunity to talk more about this, maybe during our review in Week Ten, if not before._

_I’m also hoping to set up an appointment with you, but I have class during your usual office hours. I’m struggling a little bit with a friendship because I’ve realized their presentation, but they haven’t yet. I don’t know if I should say something?! Anyway, I think it might be helpful to talk it out and you said your door’s always open for that kind of conversation. Let me know when I can stop by and see you! Thanks!_

_-_ Group Presentation Evaluation, Omega Societal Attitudes, Louis Tomlinson

***

Louis’ been talking a mile a minute since he opened his door for Harry an hour earlier. Harry’d been the first to arrive, so he’d gotten to hear Louis’ take on the omega presentation a second and third time when Liam and then later Niall arrived.

Today, he’s sitting on the floor of Louis’ room. He wants to be able to concentrate and Louis’ scent has definitely become even more pronounced. He thinks he might be getting a whiff of Liam, too, but his scent is nearly indiscernible compared to Louis’.

“Yeah, biology is much more useful and straightforward, in the long run. But especially after yesterday, I’m really wishing we’d been assigned societal attitudes. I think we’d do a _way_ better job than that group.” Louis leans back in his chair stares at the ceiling.

Harry _liked_ the presentations yesterday. He’d learned _a lot_. “They had so much to cover. Omegas’ position in society has been so controversial over the years. They weren’t going to be able to say everything about it in a fifteen minute presentation.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but what’s the point of even having a presentation on societal attitudes if you don’t deal with _current_ societal attitudes?”

Harry folds his arms across his chest. “How can you understand current societal attitudes if you don’t know about _past_ societal attitudes?”

“Okay, we get it. You guys are geeks about this stuff. Can we focus on what we need to do for _our_ presentation next week?”

“I’m not a geek— it’s just _my life_ , Liam.” Louis says Liam’s name with such distaste that Harry winces.

Liam growls in response and Niall says, “You sure you’re not an alpha?”

“He’s not an alpha,” Louis says. “Way too lame-smelling.”

“Stop it. This isn’t productive,” Liam says. He’s sitting on the couch with his laptop open. He turns it around so that they all can see. “Harry began to put together the powerpoint— like, he did all the formatting and stuff. Did you guys get a chance to look at it?”

“Red and black? That’s a little cliche.”

Harry reaches out smack Louis’ ankle, but for some reason he grabs it instead and doesn’t let go. Louis goes very still.

“I think it looks very professional,” Niall chimes in. He’s spent the entire session on his phone, with a stupid, half-interested smile on his lips, and Harry wonders who he’s chasing this week. Niall’s had more dates before his coming of age than most people have in their whole lifetime. Harry can’t even begin to catch up.

“I think we should practice what we want to say and, like, put in bullet points or images as we go. How does that sound?” Liam suggests it like it’s his idea, when Harry’d put it out there in an email to the group two days ago. That’s why they’re even here in Louis’ room.

Usually someone claiming Harry’s idea wouldn’t bother him at all, as long as the work got done, but for some reason it really grates on his nerves today. “We all already agreed to that after I put it out there on the email chain.”

Louis flexes his foot and Harry realizes that he’s still holding his ankle. He lets go.

“You’re a little testy today,” Louis murmurs. “Reminds me of this little note in the textbook: _Alphas can be extremely possessive, more so around their heats._ ”

Harry glares at him. “I’m going to be a beta. I practically already am.”

Louis’ eyebrows jump up. “Have you hit your coming of age, then? Have you started scenting?”

Harry draws a quick breath and then another and another, each one more thick with Louis than the last. He feels his cheeks flush. He doesn’t want to say _yes_ because the next question would be, _how do you know_? And Harry can’t admit that he knows because of Louis’ scent.

How fucking _mortifying_.

“Don’t give him a panic attack. Jesus.” Niall scoots down off the couch to put a hand on Harry’s back.

“It’s really rude to ask someone about their coming of age, unless you’re, like, their doctor or parent or something.” Liam explains this to Louis as though he doesn’t already know.

He knows, Harry’s sure of it, he’s just being a little bit of a shit.

Louis and Harry share a long look. Harry thinks about his hand wrapped around Louis’ ankle only moments before. He wishes— a fleeting flutter of a thought— that they were touching again.

“I’ll go first,” Harry says, voice rasping on the words. “I’m ready.”

Harry’s thought about this already and, happy to bring the focus off his imminent coming of age, he dives into it, rattling off all his bullet points and then a couple of longer anecdotes.

He’s in the middle of a story about a study done in China on alphas over the age of sixty— the footnote in the book had been incredibly detailed in regards to methodology— when Liam says, “You’ve got to cut it down. If you go on as long as this, you won’t leave time for the rest of us.”

“Fine by me,” Niall says.

“Not if you get an ‘F,” Liam protests.

“I can cut it a bit,” Harry agrees even though he’s not sure he can. He feels like he’s already leaving so much out.

“I can help you, after we finish up with the group, if you want,” Louis offers. He doesn’t look at Harry as he says it. Harry wished he had. He feels so off-kilter with Louis today (every day).

“Cool,” Liam says. “But you shouldn’t interrogate him about stuff he doesn’t want to talk about.”

Louis’ jaw drops. “It’s my dignity you should be worried for, not his. I’m the omega!”

“I thought we were doing away with stereotypes.” Niall’s back on his phone. Honestly, Harry’s a little surprised to find that he’s paying attention to the conversation at all.

“I wouldn’t hurt you,” Harry says, because it feels important to affirm that. “I’d never try to take advantage.”

This time, Louis meets his gaze. And smirks. “We’ve established that, H. You would have already done it.” He closes the comment with a wink that knocks the breath out of Harry’s chest.

As Liam begins to talk through his part of the presentation, Louis’ foot closes the space between them, resting finally just below the hinge of Harry’s knee. Harry’s hand circles Louis’ ankle again, this time finding its way underneath the fabric of his jeans.

He’s not sure what’s happening, not between him and Louis, not with their presentation. All he can focus on is the heat of Louis’ skin and the thrum of blood rushing to his cock.

“It’s a common misconception that all alphas are dominant— this is crazy,” Liam says. “I had no idea about this. Apparently only 50% of alphas claim to enjoy dominating their mates at all, 30% don’t enjoy either dominating or being dominated, and 20% only enjoy being dominated.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his chest. He’s gotten off three times this week to daydreams of Louis putting him in his place. He’d promised himself he’d put that out of his mind during their group get together, but Liam’s comments aren’t really helping matters.

Liam continues, “Do you think I can say that during the presentation? Professor Grimshaw told us we shouldn’t get too into the nitty gritty of sexual preferences, but that we _should_ dispel as many false stereotypes as possible. This seems like an important thing to say, given how common the idea is, you know?”

“You just want to talk about leather and whips,” Louis says.

Which, Louis’ voice paired with a whole new slew of images, is really, _really_ not helping Harry’s now very impressive boner.

“I think you can address it without it being an explicitly sexual thing,” Niall says, looking up from his texts. “I always think of alphas as also dominant outside the bedroom.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. What about this one, though: alphas rarely form a copulatory tie outside of a/o sex. I feel like everybody thinks that alphas just walk around with these engorged rings at the base of their dicks, but apparently that’s not the case at all.”

Louis makes a noise and pulls away. Harry looks up to see that he’s twisted around in his chair to face the wall.

“I don’t think we should include that,” Niall says. “I think it’s pretty obvious and anyone who thinks that way is an idiot.”

Harry feels himself flush. _He’d thought that way_. Before this class, he thought that all alphas learned their presentation by popping a knot masturbating. Even though he’s been quite certain he won’t be an alpha, he’s been keeping his eye on it.

“Yeah, don’t put that in there,” Louis agrees. “Knots are nasty.”

“Oh, cause you’ve seen so many,” Harry mutters, remembering the way Louis’d fingered the diagram in their textbook two weeks back.

Louis twists back around. “I haven’t, not that it’s any of your business. I’m not currently interested in partnering during my heats.”

“I’ve seen one,” Liam says.

All three of them turn to look at him. This is a surprise.

“My best friend in high school. Yeah. He was being really secretive one afternoon and he pulled out his—“ Liam looks around at them ”—his computer and opened up this porn—“

“Jesus Christ, Liam, we’ve all seen it on porn. Give a man a heart attack why don’t you?”

Liam closes his mouth. “Well, I thought it was pretty alarming.”

“Exactly why I’m not interested in partnering right now. Can you imagine.. like in your ass?”

“Bet that’s not what you’re saying during your heats.” Harry slaps a hand over his mouth. He literally cannot believe he said that.

“Alright! Great!” Niall claps his hands together. “Good talk! Let’s get back to Liam’s presentation.”

Harry doesn’t intend to be the last one in Louis’ room that afternoon, especially not after all the weirdness that’s passed between them today.

But suddenly Niall and Liam are walking out together and Harry’s notes are still spread out all over the floor.

“I’m sorry,” Louis says, dropping down beside Harry so close their knees overlap. “I shouldn’t have pressed you about your coming of age. That was really rude. If someone had done that to me…” He trails off.

Harry’s become accustomed to Louis’ scent, his arousal dimming to a low thrum instead of the sudden shot it’d been at first. But having his attention brought back to it and to the fact that Louis might be able to scent him back, it’s overwhelming.

Louis licks his lips, tongue just a shade darker than the bow of his mouth.

Harry clears his throat, but when he speaks, his voice still comes out hoarse. “I’m sorry, too. For talking about your heat.”

Louis’ eyes remain dark and serious. Why _had_ Harry said that? What had possessed him?

“I was just thinking, like, about what I’d heard about omegas. And how you want to be all filled up, like how you feel desperate for it.”

Louis’ mouth drops open. His lips still shine with spit and Harry wonders what they would taste like. His scent, probably. Harry’s balls tighten against the base of his already hard cock.

“You can’t just…” Louis blinks. “You’re not helping.”

Harry knows. But he also can’t seem to stop himself. “So you’ve never been with another alpha?”

“Another alpha? Besides…” Louis asks.

Harry wonders how their faces moved so close. He can taste Louis’ breath— his sweet scent mixing with the peanut butter sandwich he must’ve had for lunch.

Harry wants to kiss him.

So he does; he leans forward and presses their mouths together. Louis stills against him for a moment and then returns the kiss, tongue darting out to learn the contours of Harry’s mouth.

Harry’s hands travel over to Louis’ knees, up his thighs, and then settle in the soft cotton fabric of the tee-shirt bunched at Louis’ waist.

It’s not Harry’s first kiss, but it’s the first kiss he’s shared with someone whom he can scent, his first kiss with his senses on overdrive and his cock already thick and throbbing in his pants. He’d been a little worried about coming of age, concerned that it might make everything more complicated.

But this rush of pleasure, it’s worth any complication that might arise.

Louis pulls back and Harry’s hands fist in his shirt as he chases after Louis’ mouth, pressing a few brief kisses to it before Louis’ manages to fully break away.

Louis’ eyes stare at him, wide and blue.

That’s when it hits Harry.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes to say. “I didn’t mean for that to happen.”

Louis swallows and shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak.

“I know you said you didn’t want to sleep with me and I promised to respect your boundaries. Oh _god_. I’m so sorry.”

Louis’ head continues to shake.

“Louis,” Harry pleads, withdrawing his hands from Louis’ waist with a jerk. “I’m sorry.”

He wants Louis to _say_ something, to tell him that it’s okay, that he’s forgiven, that they can still be friends.

Louis remains silent as Harry begins to pack up his things.

As he’s pulling the door, Harry thinks he might hear Louis say his name, but he can’t be sure and he doesn’t want to presume. He definitely doesn’t want to make things any worse, so he keeps walking.


	6. Week Six

_At first I was really disappointed at being assigned the topic of alpha biology. ~~I still think some of the other topics would have been more interesting.~~ But I ended up learning a lot. I didn't realize that I held so many stereotypes about alphas. Sometimes it's hard to remember that decent alphas exist when the less-than-decent ones are always  ~~fucking~~ messing with you. _

_I've been suspicious, maybe even downright rude, to a lot (all?) of the alphas I've met. Most of the time, I think this makes me safer. However, sometimes it might actually be a bad thing. I do want to mate someday and I realize that to do that I have to date first._

_Niall, Liam, and Harry were great partners. Everyone did their part of the project. If anyone deserves more credit, it's Harry. He really organized everything and kept the rest of us on task. I'm really glad he was in our group._

_I think our powerpoint was sweet (that was all Harry's design), but I think our actual presentation could have been better. Next time we know that we shouldn't have coffee up with us and that we should rehearse in advance._

_-_ Louis Tomlinson, Group Presentation Evaluation, Alpha Biology 

***

 

 

Harry shifts from foot to foot. He doesn’t understand why the whole group has to stand up in front for the whole presentation when only one of them is actually talking at any given time.

At this point, Harry’s finished his part of the presentation, and Louis’ taken the floor.

“I could tell you all kinds of numbers and facts— and the other guys already have, but I think we’d all learn a lot more from some actual firsthand accounts of alpha biology. Here’s one I like from the 19th century, ‘As a youth, I found myself deeply troubled by some considerable emotion. My lifelong neighbor and dear friend Marguerite, a lovely omega by all accounts, began to smell as of roses in June. I had expected the world of scents to come alive all at once, a carnival for the senses, but M stood out like a beacon in the night. Now, after twenty years of marriage, she still does.’”

Harry drops the stack of notecards he’d been holding in his left hand and they scatter across the tiled classroom floor. As he reaches to pick them up, he spills the coffee he’d been holding in his right hand.

Harry spends the rest of the presentation on his knees at Louis’ feet, trying to quietly clean up his mess. They’re probably going to fail because of Harry’s clumsiness.

When they’re finished, Harry’s still trying to mop up the sticky coffee.

Louis presses a hand to Harry’s shoulder and he looks up. Louis’ cock is less than six inches from Harry’s mouth. Harry thinks he might be able to smell it.

Harry wonders what the fuck is wrong with him. He can’t seem to stop thinking about Louis _that way_ , despite the fact that he’d promised he wouldn’t.

Louis says, voice soft, meant only for Harry’s ears, “I figured it out.”

“What?” Harry asks, voice embarrassingly breathy.

Everyone is still _watching_ them. The second group is preparing to present.

Louis leans down so that his mouth is inches from Harry’s ear. “I mean, about that picture, why you liked it.”

Harry opens his mouth to ask what the hell Louis’ talking about, but then it hits him. Louis’ referring to the old photograph of the alpha in chains.

But Louis doesn’t leave it at that, no. He goes on murmur, “You like being put in your place. On your knees.”

Louis’ scent is so thick Harry feels like he’s been doused in it and he coughs.

“You alright?” It’s Professor Grimshaw.

Louis pulls his hand away from Harry. “We’re good. Harry’s just finished cleaning up.”

Harry stands, figuring that the janitor will be able to get whatever he’s missed.

He’s painfully aware of the way his and Louis’ arms brush as they make their way back to their desks. Despite the awkwardness of the situation and the fact that so many eyes are on them, Harry has to fight the urge to reach out and squeeze Louis’ hand.

As the next presentation begins, Louis passes Harry a note - _good job :)_ and Harry can’t help but shoot him a little smile.

~

If Harry hadn’t already figured out that he was presenting, his current predicament would have given it away. The pub is rich with scents, so rich he’s nearly nauseous with it, and Harry almost regrets agreeing to go out at all. But Niall’d insisted that they deserved to celebrate the end of their group presentation and midterms and Harry couldn’t dig up an excuse that wouldn’t be too personal.

He really didn’t want to admit that he’d begun to smell _so many people_ and that omegas, Louis in particular, had begun to drive him nuts.

His plan is simple: go out, buy one drink, make twenty minutes of small talk, and take a cab home.

He’s finishing up his one drink, nodding along to Liam’s exaggerated retelling of a rap feud, almost ready to enact the final part of his plan, when Louis’ smell hits him.

He’d almost been able to escape _before_ Louis arrived. It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to see Louis. He does. He really, _really_ wants to see Louis.

But he knows that when he sees Louis, his mind will take him straight back to his earlier shower, during which he’d imagined Louis climbing on top of him, dripping with slick and riding his cock, with bold and deliberate thrusts of his hips.

He sighs. Apparently just the scent of Louis has already taken him there.

When Louis reaches the tall table they’re standing around, he pushes in next to Harry even though there’s ample space between Niall and Liam.

Harry allows himself one long breath in. As he lets it out, Liam catches his gaze and looks away with a frown. Louis reaches over to take a long sip of Harry’s beer, putting his lips where Harry’s had only just been.

A second kiss of sorts.

Harry wants a third and a fourth, without a cold edge of glass between them.

A man approaches the table, someone that Harry’s never seen before and whose scent reminds him of stale coffee.

He places a hand on Louis’ shoulder. “Hey, babe,” he says.

Louis shudders away from him, closer to Harry.

The man’s gaze dances between Harry and Louis and his nostrils flare.

“Oh _shit_. I didn’t realize you’d already claimed him for the night,” the man says to Harry.

Harry blinks, and then stiffens because Louis’ arm is winding around his waist.

“Fuck off!” Louis’ voice stings and the man nearly jumps back, palms coming up in surrender.

“Chill mate. I just came over to ask for a dance, but I can see that you’ve already got a partner and now I’m going to leave.” Then, to Harry, he says, “If you don’t want other guys over here, you should really be a little more possessive. His ass and scent— a walking wet dream.”

“Fuck _off_!” Louis says, fingers digging into the flesh of Harry’s hip.

As soon as the man’s gone, Liam says, “Are you guys together, then? I didn’t know.”

Louis moves in closer to Harry’s side and doesn’t answer. Harry’s heart pounds in his chest as he remembers that Louis hadn’t been the one to leave after their kiss. He had.

Still, he says, “No. Louis has made it quite clear: he does not want to sleep with me.”

Louis twists up to look at him. “I what?”

“The first day we talked, you told me multiple times that you didn’t want sleep with me,” Harry explains, flushing at the memory. It’s even more embarrassing now considering how badly he _does_ want to sleep with Louis after all.

“Well, I didn’t know you!” Louis squeezes Harry’s side and Harry squawks.

“That tickles.”

“Wait,” Liam says. “Harry asked to sleep with you the first time you talked? That’s so rude. I wouldn’t have thought…” Liam trails off. Then, he takes a deep breath and shrugs.

The server drops a drink off at the table right in front of Louis. “Man at the bar says that he loves male omegas and would be totally open to a threesome.”

Harry’s feels as though he’s marionette, a puppeteer turning him in the direction of the bar against his will. A tall man with a dark beard flips his top hat in Harry’s direction.

When he looks back, Louis’ begun to down the drink.

“You’re gonna have sex with him?” Harry asks.

Louis shoots him a deeply disappointed glare. “Do _you_ sleep with everyone who buys _you_ a drink?”

“No one’s ever bought me a drink,” Harry admits. It’s not like he’s gone out much.

Louis has resumed drinking, cheeks hollowed out as he sucks through the straw, but his eyebrows climb in disbelief.

“Can we get back to my question, please!” Liam grouses. “I still want to know if Harry truly had the balls to proposition you the day you met.”

“Of course, I didn’t,” Harry snaps, grateful for a distraction from the way Louis’ making love to his drink. Is it really necessary to use one’s tongue when drinking through a straw?

“Yeah, but he wanted to,” Louis says. His glass is now empty and the man who’d presumably bought it is making his way toward them through the crowd.

“How could you have known that?” Harry demands. Belatedly, he realizes that this question makes it sound like he _had_ wanted to sleep with Louis, but he just didn’t think that Louis should _know_.

Luckily, he’s saved from having to explain himself by the appearance of Top Hat who opens with, “You’re gorgeous.”

Louis tucks himself back in against Harry’s side. “Thank you.”

“You must get hit on all the time,” Top Hat continues. His eyes flick to Harry’s face, “On the one hand, you’re very lucky. On the other, it must drive you wild, knowing how desirable he must be to every alpha he meets.”

“We’re not—“ Harry begins to say.

“—Into threesomes,” Louis finishes. “But thank you for the drink.”

The man’s eyes narrow and he trains his gaze on Harry when he says, “Is that right?”

Harry can barely process the question. His mind spins round the implication that he and Louis are somehow a unit that might, in some universe, be interested or not interested in threesomes.

“I don’t…” Harry stammers.

Thankfully Liam steps between Top Hat and Harry and Louis, saying, “Fuck off, buddy.”

The man does not break eye contact with Harry. “If you change your mind, I’ll be here all night.”

Once he’s gone, again, Louis doesn’t move away from Harry.

“Does this happen to you every time you go out?” Niall asks. He’s on his phone. Harry’s surprised he’s stayed out with them this long. Lately, a very particular girl has been taking up quite a bit of his time… mostly just texting, as far as Harry can tell.

Louis shrugs and the movement brings Harry’s attention back to his scent. Harry tries not to breath it in too deeply, and fails miserably.

All of a sudden, realization hits Harry. “That’s why you were so rude to me those first few times we talked. You thought I was going to come onto you like some sort of half-drunk knot brain at a club.”

Louis raises his brows and then takes another long sip of Harry’s beer. “The people who proposition me usually aren’t drunk or at clubs.”

Harry frowns and tries to think of other places where he might try to pick someone up. “Do you go to the gym?”

Louis sets Harry’s mug down with a thump. “No way. Nor do I go to the cafeteria by myself nor do I attend evening lectures. These days I’m _most_ likely to be accosted before or after class.”

“You don’t go to the cafeteria?” Niall gapes at him. He sounds as though Louis’ told him that he’s never eaten in his life.

“As much as Harry thinks otherwise, I don’t take pleasure in informing people that I don’t want to sleep with them.” His words should sting a little, but spoken into Harry’s neck, they don’t at all.

“I can’t believe people would be so openly dickish,” Liam says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“Believe it,” Louis says.

“I can’t believe you don’t go out,” Harry says. His voice is quiet and in the din of the club, he knows that Louis’ the only one who hears. “You seem so proud of who you are.”

Again, Louis shrugs. “I am. Doesn’t mean I enjoy being harassed.”

“When was the last time you went out like this?” Niall asks.

Louis shakes his head and, again, shrugs.

“You’ve never been, have you?” Harry asks.

“I have,” Louis huffs and then at Harry’s pointed look, he adds, “But only once since my coming of age.”

Harry knows that omegas get a lot of attention; he’d seen his mum ward off a fair few would-be suitors in her day, at odd places like the playground and the supermarket. Male omegas, being even more rare than female omegas, are likely to catch the eyes of an even larger crowd of creeps.

“I’m glad you came out with us,” Harry says and then feels himself flush. The statement feels a little bold in the context of this conversation and last week’s kiss.

Louis bumps his hip against Harry’s and smiles up at him. Harry thinks he might be about to return the sentiment, but instead he wraps his fingers around Harry’s wrist so that Harry’s pulse is beating against his thumb and says, “Let’s dance.”

He doesn’t wait for Harry’s reply; he pulls him away from the table and onto the dance floor. His grip tightens as people press in around them and a couple of times Harry’s afraid that Louis might end up pulling his arm right out of the socket.

Eventually they make it to the middle of the crowd where Louis’ plasters himself against Harry. Up until that moment, the cloud of scents on the dance floor had been making Harry queasy, but now that he can press his nose to Louis’ cheek and breath Louis in, the sensation in his belly twists into something hot.

“Stay close,” Louis says. And then when Harry pulls back to check his expression, he adds, “Please? It helps keep me from being overwhelmed with all the scents and also unwanted dickheads.”

Given Louis’ repeated insistence that he doesn’t want to sleep with Harry, the request sits uncomfortably on Harry’s chest. He pulls Louis close— how could he possibly deny him?- but the arousal that’s keying up, higher and higher, with every roll of Louis’ hips, makes him feel dirty, crude and untrustworthy, not far from the type who _would_ proposition a stranger after class.

He tries to suppress the shame. Clearly, Louis _wants_ to be dancing with him. He’d just admitted that he isn’t able to go out and do this very often, and Harry’s companionship clearly offers him shelter from aggressive knot brains who refuse to take ‘no’ for an answer.

But Louis smells _so_ good, sweet and hot, not dissimilar to the way he’d smelled after their kiss, and the longer they remain entangled, moving with music, the closer and closer their bodies slot together.

Then, as the chorus to the hot pop song swells, Louis turns around so that his ass grinds against Harry’s crotch. Harry groans at the _rightness_ of it, his fingers finding Louis’ hips.

He freezes. There’s no way that Louis doesn’t feel his erection.

“Shit, Louis,” he says, right in Louis’ ear. And then, “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

The last of his words are lost to the din of the club, because before he can finish Louis’ hand has snaked to his wrist again and he finds himself being pulled from the dance floor, through the bar, and out into the cool night air.

Out here, away from the mass of sweaty bodies engaging in an orgy of foreplay, Harry expects to be able to breath again, clear his head.

But Louis’ stays close and his scent continues to cloud Harry’s mind and judgment. Or, at least, that’s the excuse he gives himself for allowing his hands to clasp Louis’ and wind their fingers together.

“I have to tell you something.” Louis’ voice is low and urgent and Harry has to lean in to catch all his words.

Louis’ fingers tighten around Harry’s .

“Okay,” Harry agrees. He has no idea what Louis’ on about. Certainly he wouldn’t pull him outside to chastise him for an erection; so far he’s been quite brash with his rejections of Harry.

Louis’ eyes glitter in the streetlamp, as he says, “I like you. I’d like to date you.”

Harry’s heart leaps and the soars. He’s sure he’s grinning at Louis like he’s just been handed the gold medal at the Olympics; he feels like he’s won something that big, bigger maybe, and that the world will be jealous, that the whole world will be _watching_.

With that final thought, his heart careens out of sky and crashes against the pavement between them. This isn’t supposed to happen. Harry isn’t supposed to fall in like with an omega, and certainly not a _male_ omega.

He’s supposed to be a beta, date betas, marry a beta, live a quiet life under the radar.

Harry shakes his head and Louis’ tentative smile flattens.

“Say something.”

“I can’t—“ Harry begins. He swallows and then continues, “I’m sorry, Louis. I’m not interested in you.”

Harry turns around and walks away as quickly as he can.

Behind him he hears, “Wait! Harry!” And then, “You _kissed_ me!”


	7. Week Seven

Me: Do you regret never bonding?

Mum: Yes. Well, not with any of the men I was with— they were arseholes. I’m still pissed about what you told me about Mark. I can’t believe—

Me: I’m supposed to be writing about bonding.

Mum: Oh, yeah. I think I’d like to find a mate. You don’t believe it, but there are nice alphas out there. I know it. I think I’d really like the chance to do it again, live my life, but with a good guy instead of all the fuck-ups I’ve been with.

Me: You’re so used to doing everything yourself, making all your own decisions. Do you really think you could give that all up?

Mum: Obviously I wouldn’t want to be with anyone who’d make me. But sharing that burden might be nice every once in a while.

\- From _Bond Essay Interview Transcript,_ Louis Tomlinson (me) and Johanna Tomlinson (mum)

***

Harry stares at the ceiling and waits for his mum to pick up the phone. She’ll be home now, after a day of volunteering at the hospital, probably chopping vegetables for dinner.

“Hello?” She answers. He wishes he could do this in person. When Professor Grimshaw had first announced the assignment, Harry’s stomach had dropped. He does not want to talk to his parents about their bond.

He knows he has other options. He could call his grandma or his high school footie coach, but as much as he’s dreading it, he feels like analyzing the a/o bond that formed him might be critical to his own coming of age.

“Hi, mum.” He picks at the carpet beneath him.

“Harry, darling. How are you? How did midterms go?”

He blinks. Midterms seem so far away now, but he realizes that it has been nearly a week since they talked. Though he sometimes misses her and home so much he aches, he’s been avoiding this assignment.

“I’m good. Midterms went fine. I think I’ll pass. Um.” He feels sick and wishes that he’d fetched a glass of water before sitting down on the floor beside his desk for the call.

“Tell me about them,” his mum presses. “I miss you! I want to know about your life.”

She’s a good mum, textbook perfect. She’s always been just the right amount of nurturing, just the right amount of attentive, just the right amount of _everything_. Harry’s dad certainly owes much of his own political success to her warm demeanor and gentle presence.

“Actually, I’m calling for a class. For an assignment.” Harry bites his lip so hard that it stings.

“Oh really?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “It’s an interview, for my dynamics class. Can I record the call? So I can pull it up for later?”

“Sure,” she agrees easily, but Harry can hear the reservation in her tone.

“Tell me how you guys met,” Harry says. “I know your parents set you up.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t an arranged marriage by any means. Our parents were quite modern. They attended the same club and our dads often enjoyed a round of golf together. Your father had decided to settle down, but couldn’t seem to find the right omega. So his dad said something to my dad and they arranged for us to play a round on the back nine and then have dinner afterward. The rest is history.”

Harry frowns. “What do you mean, the rest is history… Did you know you’d bond right away?”

There’s a long pause and, in the background, the clatter of a pot.

Finally, “That’s a very personal question, love.”

“I’ll take a yes or a no.” It’s on the list from Professor Grimshaw and Harry’s not quite sure how it could be that invasive.

“I felt differently about him than I had about anyone else,” she says with a sigh. And then she tacks on, “I was only just coming of age.”

Harry hums. He wants to know what was different, but he suspects that the answer to that question is what crosses the ‘very personal’ boundary.

“I wish I could be more help to you,” she says. “Maybe you should talk to your dad about this.”

Harry groans. That’s the last thing he wants to do. “I don’t know why you won’t tell me. Growing up, you used to let the whole country know your heat cycle.”

His mother hums. “You know I’m very proud of all your father did to destigmatize heats and ruts.”

He does know.

But he also knows the vomit-inducing horror of kids at school saying, “Bet your mum’s taking it good right now. Bet your dad’s knot’s shut her right the fuck up,” and not being able to say _anything_ because they weren’t wrong. Acknowledgement of his dad’s personal leave due to his omega’s heat was always printed in the newspaper at his dad’s request.

“Well, here’s another opportunity for you to enlighten the world about a/o life, since that seems to be so important to you”

“Being transparent about a biological reality is different than talking about your own a/o courtship with your teenage son.” Her tone’s turned sharp.

“What is it? It can’t be that bad. Did he smell really good to you or something?”

For some reason, Harry’s mind flashes to Louis sitting on the floor of his dorm room, lips parted, still wet from Harry’s kiss.

“Surely, you’ve got other questions for me.”

Harry rattles off all the questions listed on the assignment sheet. “How did you make the decision to bond? What did your families think? How did dynamics play into the previous questions? What’s the hardest thing about being bonded? The best thing? Do you think dynamics play a role in your relationship currently?”

“Why aren’t you talking to someone in a beta/beta bond? I thought you were sure that’s how you’d present,” his mum interrupts.

Harry draws a sharp breath. “I still think that’s how I’m going to present.”

“Then why are you so curious about a/o bonds?”

Harry doesn’t know what to say. He fumbles for an answer and then is surprised at what comes out. “It’s always good to be prepared for the worst.”

“The worst,” his mum huffs. “Well, in that case, you should be interviewing your father. You’re most likely to present as an alpha, dear. We’ve always told you this. I don’t understand why you’d reach out to me.”

Harry doesn’t know either, but then Louis pops up in his mind again. This time, they’re back outside the club and Louis’ asked Harry to date and is waiting, eyes shining, scent cloying, for Harry’s answer.

Slowly, he admits, “I’m curious what the whole thing is like from the omega perspective.”

His mother hums. He can almost see the pinch in her brow as she ponders his words. “I suppose it isn’t that different from any other perspective.”

Louis would disagree. In fact, he has, many times, in class.

“How did your first date end?” Harry asks, rolling his shoulders.

His mum sighs. “We finished eating and your dad put our meal on his dad’s tab.” She laughs. “I was a little worried that he didn’t pay for it himself— I wondered if we’d spend the rest of our lives depending on our parents. My job as a teacher certainly wasn’t going to pay the bills.”

Louis wants to be a teacher. He has the ridiculous urge to tell his mum this, even though she has no idea who Louis is.

Harry swallows. “Then what?”

“It was a long time ago,” she says.

“You remember,” Harry assures her, though he doesn’t really know if she does or if she doesn’t.

“I do,” she admits. She takes a breath. “He helped me into my coat. I still remember how intensely his smell affected me.” She pauses. “He was first the person I could smell, you know.”

Again, Harry’s mind jumps to Louis.

His mum continues, voice soft, “He smelled so good— I’m not proud of this and I’ve never told anyone before— but I couldn’t help myself. I asked him when I would see him again.”

“That’s… wow.”

Harry’s always thought of his mum as an incredibly traditional omega. Not that she’s bound by misogyny, but that she fits every stereotype; she’s soft-spoken, docile, kind, good with children and more than adequate at keeping house.

“I know. Bold of me, but I just couldn’t let him go,” she says. “I realized later what a big risk I’d taken. Many alphas would’ve turned me down just for being so forward. Luckily, your father was just as smitten with me as I was with him.”

“He agreed immediately?”

“He agreed immediately.”

Again, Harry’s back outside the club wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t walked away.

~

Harry’s proud of himself. He’s finished four out of the six required pages analyzing his bond interview for dynamics. With Louis sitting across from him.

It’s not that his smell is any less delicious or tempting. No, Harry’s just become better accustomed to it.

When Louis’d gotten up to go to the toilet and taken his sweet scent with him, _that’s_ when Harry’s concentration had run off course.

(Which, upon further reflection, may mean he’s got it _worse_ for Louis than before.)

Beside him, Niall moans, “I’m hungry.”

Liam glares at him and then at the librarian a few feet away and then back at Niall. Niall doesn’t seem to notice.

Harry reaches into his bag and digs out a baggie of granola, which he tosses to Niall who catches it, makes a wrenching noise and throws it back across the table. Louis grabs it out from in front of Harry.

Harry expects him to mimic Niall’s barfing after his first bite— he’s never seen Louis eat anything that hasn’t been heavily processed— but he doesn’t. Instead, his eyes never leaving his computer screen, he munches down the whole baggie.

He eats daintily, chewing with his mouth closed and wiping at the corners of his mouth with the tip of his finger between bites. Harry’s mesmerized.

When Louis hands the empty baggie back to Harry, he says, voice soft and rough, “Thank you.”

Harry suppresses the urge to ask, “Did you like it?”

He’d made it at home before he’d left for school and he’s on the last of the batch. When he goes home next, he’ll bake extra to bring back for Louis, if that’s what Louis’ wants.

Perhaps Louis doesn’t like processed food. Perhaps he just needs someone to cook for him.

Harry could be that someone.

He swallows and pushes the thought away. He _couldn’t,_ actually, because he’d rejected Louis last weekend, _for good reason_.

He has no desire to live his life under the same spotlight he’d endured with his parents.

“Hey,” Niall whispers.

This time, Liam lifts a finger to his lips and says, “ _Shhhh_.” He’s louder than Niall had been and the librarian glances in their direction for a long moment before looking back to her computer.

“So,” Niall continues. “How far have you guys gotten? I’ve finished my rough draft and I’m getting pretty hungry.”

Liam gapes at him. “You’ve finished your rough draft? How is that possible? You’ve spent at least half the time we’ve been here texting your girlfriend!”

The librarian’s looking their way again, but she doesn’t look angry, only amused.

“I’m nearly finished,” Harry says. “And since _someone_ ate my snack, I’m getting pretty hungry as well.”

Louis licks his lips and glances up. “I’ll just head back to my room when you all are ready. I’ve got mac and cheese there.”

“Come on,” Liam begs. “Come to the caf with us. Not one person’s bothered you here at the library.”

Louis sniffs and Harry wonders. Is he testing for Harry’s scent? Despite everything, he hopes so. “Someone, uh, did try to talk to me on the way to the toilet.”

Liam’s caterpillar brows draw together. “Really? Why didn’t you say?”

Harry’s overwhelmed with the strange urge to apologize, to promise to go with Louis next time, to ask where the knot brain went so that he can beat him with a dictionary ‘til he’s so bruised he never even thinks of making unwanted advances on an attractive omega (or anyone else, for that matter) ever again.

Harry doesn’t do any of these things. Instead he fingers a gouge in the wooden tabletop and waits for Louis’ answer.

“I handled it on my own,” Louis shrugs. “But, like, it was enough for one day. So.”

“We can all go back with you,” Niall offers, but Harry— and everyone else including Louis— can hear the hesitancy in his voice.

Louis huffs. “I don’t have enough mac and cheese for all of you. I’m not made of money.”

“At least let us walk you back to your dorm,” Harry suggests. “It’s nearly on the way.” It isn’t.

Louis’ mouth flattens and he begins to pack his bag. Liam and Niall follow suit. Harry doesn’t. He’s still waiting for Louis’ answer.

“Well? Can we?”

Louis huffs. “Alright. That would be… helpful.”

Harry resists the urge to crow. He doesn’t understand why it’s suddenly so important that he follow Louis around— make sure that he’s never propositioned inappropriately ever again, but it is.

Louis’ nostrils flare and he looks at Harry for the first time all afternoon. “Woah there. You sure you’re alright?”

His gaze pins Harry’s mouth shut. He can’t open it, can’t defend himself, can’t do anything but stare at Louis’ pink lips.

That’s when he realizes that he’s going to get hard. Right here in the library. Where, if he’s right and his coming of age is well and truly upon him, every person he encounters will be able to smell it on him.

“Come on, then.” Louis reaches over and begins to pack Harry’s books for him. Harry feels helpless, gaze transfixed by the long line of Louis’ arm, the sharp edge of his jaw, the careful flex of his fingers. He feels likes he’s watching porn.

Somehow— Harry’s not sure the route they took or whether a word was spoken on the way— they end up back at Louis’ dorm. His scent is richer here, more tempting than ever, wafting out through the crack underneath the door.

“Alright,” Louis says, sliding his key into the lock. Harry allows himself a heavy glance at his backside, memorizing the curve of his ass. Had he been slick when Harry’d ground up on him in the club? If Harry’d said _yes_ to his ask, would he have taken Harry back to this very room and allowed Harry to find out for himself?

That’s when it hits Harry.

He likes Louis, of course, he does. But he also might like him enough to try to make it work, despite Louis’ dynamic, despite the attention he draws to himself.

It might be worth it. And it’s certainly worth a try.

He steels himself to ask to stay for mac and cheese, and hopefully more.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want to try coming with us, just this once?” Liam asks.

“Yes,” Louis says. Then, tugging at the hem of his shirt, he murmurs, “Hopefully someday. Maybe if I find someone, you know, other guys will be less interested. I can live a more normal life.”

Harry considers his words, plays them and replays them in the pregnant pause that follows.

Then, dropping his hands, keys jangling, Louis says, “God. Fuck. I really fucking hate that I need someone else to make my life normal. Fucking no one else does.”

“I’m sorry,” Liam says. “There’s got to be something we could do.”

“There really isn’t… I’m gonna just…” Louis shoulders open the door and then disappears inside.

“I feel so bad for him,” Liam says as they make their way to the cafeteria.

“I feel bad for _Harry_ ,” Niall replies.

Harry frowns at him. He doesn’t like the sound of that. “Why do you feel bad for me?”

“You are so fucking _wild_ about him? Oh my god. Maybe you didn’t proposition him when you first met, but Jesus Christ, his instincts were totally right. I can’t scent yet, but even I knew that you were about to jump him back there in the library.”

Harry’s frown deepens and he speeds up his walk; the faster the food appears to distract Niall, the better.

Still, he decides there’s no use denying it. Liam will have smelled it, probably Louis, too. God, that’s probably why…

“It’s whatever. He doesn’t want me back.” Harry’d thought otherwise. Louis’d led him to believe otherwise. But he sees what the other night was all about now.

“Oh my gosh!” Liam exclaims, right as they come to the back of the line. The guy in front of them glances back at them. “That’s perfect! You like him. He doesn’t hate you. If you two got together, he could live a normal life, just like he said he wanted.”

“That’s stupid,” Harry says. “I don’t want to be his, like, mate of convenience.”


	8. Week Eight

_I’m really glad we did this assignment. After talking with my mum, really listening to what she had to say, and thinking about it from her perspective, I can see why she made some of the choices she made. Also, having spent this semester on my own at university as an omega, I can really relate to some of her struggles._

_She felt like in order to live her life properly, she needed a mate. Then, she didn’t have to worry as much about the rude strangers or questions from her friends, family, and co-workers. Apparently, one boss even openly told her in her an interview that she better have a mate because he wasn’t interested in hiring single omegas!_

_Things aren’t so in the open, now. If you have the money and know who to talk to, you can sue someone for saying something like that in an interview these days. I definitely would try, at least (even though I definitely don’t have the money)._

_I still feel like a lot of the same things might be easier if I had a mate, but I also know the problems that come from seeing someone who’s wrong for you. I would never be with someone just to protect myself, like she did. I don’t think it was worth it._

-From _Bond Essay_ by Louis Tomlinson

***

“Now, I’m counting on all of you to be mature today. I know we’ve got all kinds of hormones running wild in our bodies. Some of you are already horny as hell.” Professor Grimshaw’s nostrils flare. “Obviously.”

Harry flushes. He’s been half hard since he woke up this morning and he’s not sure why. His shower wank only settled him through breakfast and then just the thought of returning to this class and sitting next to Louis had his cock perking right back up again.

“But I think you can handle it. We’re going to talk about bonds.”

He might as well have said, “We’re going to talk about you having sex with the person of your dreams” because Harry’s cock literally twitches in his pants.

“Now, as I’m sure you know, bonding is not all about sex. Romance, family, partnership— those all play into it as well. But sex _is_ a part of it and, as such, we will touch on it. I don’t want any giggling, masturbating, or rude comments about myself or other students. Inappropriate behavior will result in a failing grade.”

Harry hears whispering behind him.

Softly, with his eyebrows raised, Professor Grimshaw says, “Do I make myself clear?”

He’s met with a chorus of yeses. Harry doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust his voice.

“Alright, let’s start with the basics,” Professor Grimshaw says. “To most, though not all, omegas, alphas smell far more tempting than any other dynamic and vice versa. Often, the beginning of alpha/omega attraction is not visual, but instead is based on smell.”

At this moment, Harry breathes in deeply, his senses filling up with Louis. He’s not an alpha or an omega, not that he knows of anyway, but he can understand scent being the basis for sexual attraction.

In fact, now that he’s coming of age, he can’t ever imagine being with anyone who _didn’t_ smell so good to him.

“Until about fifty years ago, most a/o bonds _all over the world_ , even _here_ , were arranged. Actually, how many of you have parents or grandparents in an arranged bond?”

Professor Grimshaw raises his own hand, and so does Louis and about a dozen other students. None of Harry’s grandparents were in an a/o bond, but he remembers his mum’s words about her parents being modern and _not_ arranging their bond. (Even if they sort of, totally, did.)

“In an arranged situation, the couple would meet a few times, usually not more than once a week over the course of a few months, and always chaperoned. Still today, many parents find chaperones for their omega children when they go on dates.”

Beside him, Louis murmurs, “My mum would never.”

Harry can’t tell if he’s pleased or frustrated by this. He thinks about the few times they’ve spent alone in Louis’ dorm room, about kissing him, about dancing with him at the club. He clasps his hands together to stop them from reaching down and pressing on his erection.

“The reason for this is because of the longstanding cultural assumption that alphas cannot control their baser instincts. People expect that, given the chance, they’d take advantage of their omega partner and, again, if given the chance, leave them high and dry and possibly pregnant.”

Louis’ hand shoots into the air. Harry twists to look at him. His skin glows pink under the heat of Harry’s gaze and Harry notices, for the first time, a dusting of freckles across his cheeks. How could he not have seen them before?

“Tomlinson.” Professor Grimshaw nods at Louis.

“That’s false, right? We did our presentation on alphas and very specifically reported on study after study that showed that when encouraged and motivated, alphas were as capable of controlling their sexual urges as omegas and betas.”

Harry’s dad’s said as much to him. However, given the force of Harry’s - a likely beta- desire to jump out of his seat and press his nose into Louis’ neck, Harry’s not sure that’s saying very much.

When Professor Grimshaw begins to talk again, Harry rips his gaze from from Louis, clears his throat (a little too loudly, perhaps), and attempts to refocus. He grips his pen and decides that the best course of action is to try and take some notes.

“The sexual urges of a/o couples are documented to be more physically compelling on average than those of any other dynamic pairing. However, there’s much more variance between the attraction experience within the couples of the same dynamics than there is between different dynamic pairings overall.”

 _A/O’s have hotter sex,_ Harry writes. His eyes widen. That’s not what Professor Grimshaw had said at all. Why had he written it? It’s probably not even true.

Except.

Last night before heading to bed, he’d pulled up a video he’d stored deep in the recesses of his hard drive: a male omega riding a tattooed and broad chested alpha. The camera focused in on the place where they were clasped together, the omega’s slick glinting around the base of the alpha’s knot.

If Harry’s honest, he’s had the video for a long time. Nearly a year.

It’s not that wishes he were an alpha or an omega- he’s _fine_ as a beta, but nothing else makes him as hard as when the alpha bucks up, his knot catching on the omega’s rim, and the omega smacks his hip with a soft, _not yet._

That’s when Harry comes nearly every time he watches.

“Contrary to popular narrative, over 75% of a/o couples of _all ages_ surveyed last year claimed to have sex before they bonded.” Professor Grimshaw is talking again and Harry tries to think about what he’s said.

 _A/o couples have sex_ , Harry writes. It’s not that different than the previous sentence and it certainly doesn’t express whatever Professor Grimshaw was trying to communicate.

“As you know from the wonderful group that presented on alphas—“ Professor Grimshaw gestures toward Harry and he feels like everyone in the class can read the terribly stupid and revealing notes on his paper “—knotting is not common unless it’s a heat or a rut.”

Harry writes the word, _knoting,_ and then realizing he missed a ’t’, scribbles it out. He writes, _notting_ , realizes he’s missed the ‘k’, scribbles it out, and tries one last time: _knotting._

He’s not a bad speller. It’s just hard to concentrate on anything else when his cock is literally throbbing against his thigh.

Louis taps his shoulder.

Harry glances at him. Louis’ eyelashes flutter as he tilts his head questioningly.

Harry chews his lip and shrugs helplessly. What’s he supposed to do? Tell Louis how horny this lecture is making him, especially with Louis’ own scent teasing him?

Like, hell, he’s gonna do that.

Harry shakes his head, looks down at his notes, and scribbles, _no_.

Louis taps his shoulder a second time and mouths, “Are you okay?”

Louis’ eyes are wide and curious and Harry could stare at them for hours and never get bored. Louis’ lips are pursed with concern and Harry can imagine leaning over and kissing it away. Louis’ throat looks pink and smooth and Harry wants to mark it up with his teeth.

Harry wets his mouth. “Yeah,” he grates out.

Professor Grimshaw walks over to them. “Are we have difficulty being mature about this lecture topic?”

Harry shakes his head fervently and slides his forearms over his paper to cover his shitty notes. “No, sorry.”

Professor Grimshaw’s nostrils flare and his eyes remain on Harry for a moment longer. Harry feels his ears grow hot.

“Do you need to go back to your dorm?” Professor Grimshaw’s voice is gentle, but Harry feels like he’s been slapped.

“No,” he assures him. “No, sir.”

He blinks. Who calls their professor _‘sir_ ’? Why would he even-

His mind brings him right back to the climax of that a/o porn video where the alpha replies to _every single command_ from his omega with the words, _yes, sir._

Thankfully, Professor Grimshaw doesn’t appear to be able to read minds and walks back to the dais to continue his lecture.

Harry rests his head in folded arms on the top of his desk. It dims the richness of Louis’ scent, but only for a moment.

Thankfully, both Louis and Professor Grimshaw leave him alone for the rest of class. He makes a couple more attempts at taking notes, but thoughts of Louis or the porno or he and Louis reenacting the porno continue to interrupt and so he spends most of time with his head down.

Even when Professor Grimshaw finally stops talking and Harry hears the students around him packing up, he stays just as he is, head buried in his forearms. He doesn’t want to be forced to talk to Louis, or anyone. He needs to make his way back to his dorm as quickly as possible and jerk off again. And maybe once more.

The room quiets and Louis’ scent slowly dissipates. Harry’s still half-hard and he can hear Professor Grimshaw speaking softly with a student, but he has to get back to his dorm room. Slowly, he raises his head.

Confirming that Professor Grimshaw is otherwise occupied, Harry darts out the door, arms full because he doesn’t want to risk the time to pack up his things.

He’s almost to his dorm, when that _fucking_ sweet scent returns.

“Hey, Harry.” Louis’ appeared out of nowhere to walk beside him. “Sorry I didn’t wait for you. I wanted to distract Niall and Liam- get them out of there and on their way to cafeteria, so that I could talk to you alone.”

Harry doesn’t stop walking. At this rate, they will arrive outside of Harry’s door in approximately three minutes and Harry will not invite Louis inside.

But he really, _really_ wants to. He’d offered to date Harry, hadn’t he? Harry wouldn’t mind an arrangement of convenience right now. Harry will help him out. He will help Harry out.

Harry can picture it, Louis’ fingers wrapping around his erection, pulling him off until he spills over Louis’ knuckles.

“Jesus _Christ,”_ Louis says.

Harry feels a prickle at the base of his spine. “You can’t read my mind, can you?”

“I can imagine,” Louis says.

Harry stops in his tracks to stare him, feeling caught out. He can smell the arousal on Harry, of course he can. Omegas are notoriously sensitive to such things, especially when directed at them.

Harry starts walking again. He doesn’t want to have this conversation in the courtyard.

“Harry, I just want to make sure you’re prepared, that you’re gonna be okay at the end of this,” Louis says.

Harry doesn’t know what he’s talking about, not exactly, but he certainly doesn’t feel prepared for the force of his arousal— being thirteen didn’t have peanuts on this.

Harry doesn’t answer and Louis doesn’t stop following. When they reach the door to Harry’s dorm, Louis says, “Harry, talk to me.”

Harry’s throat feels dry and his heart is pounding and he has no idea what to say. So, as an answer of sorts, he opens the door and gestures for Louis to step inside.

Louis doesn’t hesitate to obey and Harry’s cock _throbs._ He’s fully hard again now, has been probably since Louis’d found him in the courtyard.

His eyes travel over the stretch of Louis’ shirt across his shoulders and the pull of his jeans across his ass. It’s then that he knows what he’s going to do for certain.

Louis’ gaze travels around the room, cataloguing Harry’s band posters, his unmade bed, and the precariously stacked collection of textbooks on his desk.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” he says.

Harry coughs.

Louis turns to meet his gaze, eyes soft.

“Louis,” Harry says, “I’ve changed my mind.”

Louis folds his arms across his chest, face hardening, but only slightly. “I don’t think—“

Harry cuts him off, “Hear me out. I like you. And I know you know I want you. I know you can smell it on me.”

Louis’ nostrils flare in confirmation.

Harry continues, “So I’m wondering if we can go back to what you asked me the other night. I mean, I wonder if you still want to date me?”

Louis’ face tightens and Harry’s not sure what he’s said to hurt him.

“Are you asking me if I want to date you or if I want to fuck you?”

Harry gasps and reaches down to press a hand over his erection. “You can’t just say that and expect—“

“Which is it?” Louis asks, his eyes on Harry’s cock. “Be honest.”

“Both?” Harry asks, barely holding onto the thread of the conversation.

Louis licks his lips. He might say _yes_. He’s going to say _yes._

But then, he doesn’t. Then, he shakes his head. “No, Harry. This isn’t the right time to have this conversation. I shouldn’t have come back here with you.”

Harry reaches up and buries his hands in his hair, pulling at its roots. “If not now, when? Can we talk about it tomorrow?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, not tomorrow. Maybe in a week though, if you’ve cooled down.”

“What?”

Louis starts to walk to the door again.

“Louis, what’s going to change over the course of a week?”

Louis’ face has gone soft again as he takes Harry in. “Are you really as dense as you’re acting right now?”

“Louis,” Harry says. And then, “No, I’m not dense.”

Louis reaches out and touches his fingertips to Harry’s neck. Harry’s whole body shudders with pleasure. A few more strokes, there, _anywhere_ , and Harry might come in his pants.

“We’ll talk after you’re rut’s come and gone,” Louis says.

Harry’s heart tightens in his chest and tears of frustration form in the corner of his eyes.

“Okay,” he says.


	9. Week Nine

_Dear Professor Grimshaw_ ,

_Just wanted to let you know that I don’t think Harry Styles will be making it to class this week and if he does, he probably won’t have his reading assignment done. You may know that we’re friends- thanks to this course!- and last week he started his first rut. He hasn’t answered my texts in a few days, which is a little worrying, but I guess first ruts can be even worse than first heats? (Hard to believe, to be honest!)_

_On an unrelated note ;) I’m just wondering whether or not you think it’s a good idea to let a new boyfriend help you through a heat or whether you should wait it out a few months. My head says_ wait _, but my ass says_ go for it _. Just wondering if you have any insight. Our last conversation was so helpful! You can write me back or just let me know if you have time to meet in the next few days._

_Thanks,_

_Louis Tomlinson_

_***_

Once Louis leaves and Harry jerks off (twice in twenty minutes— how even?), he’s able to calm down and focus some of his other schoolwork for a few hours.

Eventually, though, curiosity gets the better of him and reopens his dynamics textbook to the section about ruts. It’d been Louis’ section of their presentation and, even then, Harry hadn’t been able to listen to him talk about it without getting hard, so he mostly just… hadn’t listened, as a coping mechanism.

He regrets that now.

But, goddamnit, he’d really thought he’d end up a beta. Before Louis, that’s what he’d wanted.

Most of him still wants it now.

Swallowing hard and then focusing on the words in front of him, Harry resigns himself to the fact that he can’t change his dynamic, but he can control how he handles it.

As he reads, he makes a list of things he might need over the course of the next week: food, water, drinks filled with electrolytes, lube, a fleshlight (too late to order one of those online, unfortunately), and knot cream. The whole experience does not sound pleasant, but Harry’s dad has never complained about it.

He remembers, suddenly, that Louis said he _likes_ to go through heats.

The thought makes him instantly hard.

That evening, after another wanking session, he makes a trip to the cafeteria to load up on snacks and to the small dorm store for the lube and knot cream, which, thankfully, they have in stock.

Harry doesn’t know how long it will take for his rut to fully settle in. According to the textbook, the lead-up averages 12-48 hours.

He wakes up the next morning, hard as hell, but feeling otherwise normal. After jerking off, he finds his phone and texts Louis, _maybe I’m not entering rut. Feel fine today._

Louis texts back, _babe_

Harry can almost hear him say the word. He presses a hand onto his cock, which though fully spent only minutes earlier, is beginning to harden again.

He replies, _okay maybe not_.

Louis sends Harry back a winking face- _he’s flirting_ \- and Harry’s heart flutters at the thought of the conversation that they will have on the other side of whatever Harry’s about to endure.

They’re probably going to date. They’re probably going to become boyfriends.

They’re probably going to _fuck_.

Harry gives in and wraps a hand around his dick. It’s already starting to feel a little sore from the wear he’s been giving it this last twenty-four hours.

He finds the lube he bought last night and squirts a large dollop onto his palm. It’s cool on his hand and even cooler on his cock, but as he begins to work his fist, he appreciates the smooth glide.

He allows himself to imagine that instead of his own hand, it’s Louis’. He thinks about Louis’ scent, and wishes he’d had the foresight to ask him to leave something behind for Harry to bury his face in.

He remembers the electric press of Louis’ fingers on his neck and imagines those same fingertips traveling down his chest, pinching his nipples, sliding back to tease at his hole.

He speeds up his strokes.

He wonders what Louis would do if he called. God, his voice alone might have Harry coming again, especially if he called Harry _babe_ or, _fuck_ , told him what to do.

Right hand still stripping his cock, Harry fumbles around his desk with his left hand, searching for the phone. As his fingertips land on smooth plastic, he comes, coating his hands, and spurting onto his stomach. He can’t believe his balls haven’t shriveled in on themselves. He would have thought he’d long emptied them out.

When his breathing slows, he sends a message to his mum, _really busy this week, call you next Thursday_. Then, he shuts off his phone and locks it in his safe. He doesn’t need his crazy rut brain ruining things with his potential mat— boyfriend.

~

His rut begins in earnest that afternoon. Desire pulls him under, like an inescapable ocean tide, and he knows it’s for real now.

He’s an alpha.

He never expected his coming of age to involve this much masturbation, but he can’t say that he hates it. Maybe Louis was onto something, admitting to liking his heats.

~

He pops his first knot the third day in and, honestly, it hurts.

He’s on all fours on top of his mattress, face pressed into his pillow, hips rutting into his hand as he pictures a sweet, wet omega (Louis) pushing back up against him.

His body’s covered in sweat and he feels like he’ll never be free of his own aroused scent. He’s angry his phone is far away because he really, _really_ wants to call Louis, ask him to come over. He had no idea how badly he’d need something warm and wet to hold him tight.

His lubed palm just isn’t cutting it.

Still, he pulls and he pulls until his balls are tightening up against him.

God, they’re so fucking full that they _ache_.

That’s when he feels it, the thickness beginning to form at the base of his cock.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says, cry muffled by the pillow.

It _stretches_ and _aches_ , but when he allows his shoulders to drop to the bed so that the hand that had been propping him up can wrap around the knot, he keens.

He’s never felt anything sweeter in his whole life.

One more stroke down the length of his cock and he’s coming with a shout, chin scraping against the sheet, fist tightening around his newfound favorite body part.

~

Harry wakes up the morning of his dynamics class still feeling more than a little horny. He’s not delirious with it anymore, doesn’t think he’ll pop a knot today, but he’s not quite ready to brave the world.

He should contact Professor Grimshaw, or at least Niall, let him know that he won’t be there and why.

He stares at the ceiling of his room, white with a large crack crack in the corner. He’ll have to tell people, then, that he’s not a beta. He feels a little foolish for how fervently he’s always insisted he would be.

Of course he isn’t. Betas are _so_ rare as offspring of a/o couples. He’d been a blind, dense as Louis’d put it, to think that he’d be anything but an alpha. Gemma was the exception, not the rule.

He’s beginning to catch up on some of his calculus homework a few hours later, when he hears a wrap of knuckles on his door.

He looks down. He isn’t wearing any clothes, just a fleece blanket as a cape; pants seemed more of a pain than anything these last few days. However, he doesn’t want to scare off his neighbors.

He digs a shirt out of the laundry; he sniffs it once and then laughs at himself. Anyone who’s past their coming of age, which is most people on campus, is more likely to notice the scent of his rut than the smell of his dirty clothes.

Once he’s appropriately covered, he opens the door.

No one’s there.

And then it hits him: Louis’ scent.

He looks up and down the hall, but Louis’ gone.

However, he seems to have left Harry a gift: a sweater and stack of papers.

Harry, who’s cock’s already perked up, apparently having forgotten the last six days of near constant orgasms, grabs Louis’ things, slams the door shut, drops the papers onto his desk in a flurry, and hauls the sweater up to the loft.

This time, he lays on his back, the sweater spread out over his face covering him completely in Louis’ scent, and pulls himself off. He hadn’t taken the time to bring the lube up here with him, but he doesn’t mind.

He imagines himself and Louis, caught in the heat of the moment, Louis pushing him back onto the bed, demanding to see if Harry will knot up for him. Louis would knock Harry’s hands out the way, order him to hold them at his side, and then he would take over the work of stroking Harry’s cock.

The moment that Harry’s knot appears, Louis’ second hand would move from Harry’s balls to hold it tight. _Couldn’t wait for me, could you?,_ he’d say.

Harry’s coming again, knotting up even, for the first time in over a day.

Harry would have loved to wait for Louis, would have loved to have first popped his knot while buried deep inside Louis, binding them together.

He comes three more times that afternoon, Louis’ sweet-smelling sweatshirt fueling him again and again and again.

The next morning, he wakes desperately hungry and fully alert, the fever of his rut broken. After a luxurious breakfast in the cafeteria surrounded by his schoolbooks, Harry returns to his room.

He unlocks his phone and single-mindedly dials his mum. He wants to get this over with.

“Harry,” she answers. “I’ve been worried about you. I know you said in your text… but a week with no word…”

“I’m sorry,” he tells her because he is sorry. He probably should have called her _first_ , as soon as he’d realized what was happening.

It’s just— he knows how she’s going to react.

“Harry, love.” Her voice is low and sweet. “You can tell me what happened.”

She knows, or at least expects. Of course, she does. Everyone probably realized the moment Harry went into hibernation, if not before.

Harry clears his throat. “It was my rut.”

His mum hums.

Harry waits for more.

Eventually, she says, “How are you feeling now? Still coming down? The first ones can last awhile, I’ve heard.”

“No, I think I’m well out of it now,” Harry says.

In the cafeteria this morning, he’d barely registered the scents of those he passed, whereas the day he’d run from class, from Louis, every single smell had been magnified by a thousand times.

“I know this isn’t what you wanted,” his mum says.

Again, Harry waits for her to say more, to tell him why this is a good thing, how her life with his father in the public eye isn’t the trial Harry imagines it to be.

She doesn’t say that though. Instead, she says, “I’m sorry.”

Her apology lands heavy in the center of Harry’s chest and he tries to brush it aside. “It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. You wanted to be a beta. I know you wanted that. I wanted it for you, too.” The last few words catch and Harry wonders if she might be _crying_.

“It was stupid of me to expect anything but this, with you and dad being a/o. I should have been more prepared, like emotionally.” Harry struggles to get the words out. It’s like trying to button an ill-fitting suit, the ugly feeling in his gut threatening to burst free.

“Oh love, you saw what we had and you didn’t want that.” She sighs, raw and rough, and Harry can feel her breath dragging on the jagged edges of her broken heart. He’d never thought much about what his attitude of rejection might feel like for her.

“It’s not—“ Harry wants to tell her that she’s wrong, but she isn’t, so he settles on, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she says in nearly the same breath as he. “I just want you to be happy.”

Harry’s eyes catch on Louis’ sweater heaped up in the corner of Harry’s mattress where he’d held it close all night long. “I don’t know if this will be as bad as I anticipated.”

As soon as the words are out, he regrets them. He hadn’t meant to give her an opening to sell him on the a/o life.

But she only says, “I hope it’s not.”

Harry leans back against his desk, the handle of a drawer digging into the small of his back. He’d been so anxious to call his mum that he hadn’t even settled somewhere comfortable after retrieving his phone.

“Does dad know?” Harry asks.

His mum chuckles. “Love, I only just found out, so no, not unless you’ve told him.”

Harry closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to have this conversation twice. Throat tight, he asks, “Will you tell him?”

She hums. “It would be better if you told him yourself, don’t you think?”

Panic wells up in his chest. “Please?”

“Alright. But you’ll have to talk to him about it eventually.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees, though he plans to avoid it as long as possible. “But I don’t want do any interviews about it or anything.”

“Of course,” she says. “You’re an adult now. You can make your own choices about these kinds of things.”

He doesn’t think his dad has quite the same take on that.

The line is quiet for a little while.

“Thank you,” Harry says. He doesn’t know exactly _what_ he’s grateful for, but he knows he’s grateful.

“Thank _you_ ,” she says. “For telling me. I’m here for you. Anything you need. I know you won’t believe this, but your father is, too.”

After he hangs up the phone, tears prick at the back of his eyes and he blinks them back.

He takes a deep breath and messages Louis. _Hey!_

Louis’ reply is nearly immediate. _Hey you! ;)_

The winking face sets Harry’s pulse racing. Louis probably hasn’t forgotten their conversation before his rut. He probably isn’t planning on going back on his word.

 _You up to talk,_ Harry asks.

Louis doesn’t reply right away. Eventually, Harry receives, _Honestly, I’m pretty slammed this week. I wrote you a note? Did you see? Let’s talk after class next week! Just come back to my dorm with me and we’ll hash things out. ;)_

Harry bites his lip. That doesn’t sound quite as promising as he’d hoped.

But… a letter?

Harry rises, so quickly it makes him dizzy for a moment, and then begins to search through the mess of papers on his desk. Louis’ note is written in blue pen on a piece of lined paper, torn out of a notebook.

_Dear Harry,_

_I haven’t changed my mind. I’d really like for us to date. I really enjoy the time we spend together. Somehow you’re always able to make me laugh, even when the rest of the world is shit._

_I’ve really been afraid of leaning on someone— an alpha, especially— just because it makes life easier as an omega. My mum did that and it nearly always burned her. So my independence is really important to me, but I actually believe that you’ll be able to respect that._

_Finals are really kicking my ass, but I really can’t wait until we have a chance to talk this out, like figure out how we can make this work_ for us _. Hope your rut wasn’t terrible!!! I was thinking about you!!_

_Sincerely yours,_

_Louis_

_P.S. When I say I was thinking about you, I mean that both in a thoughtful boyfriend way and in a sexual way. You smelled_ so _good last week. It was_ so _hard to walk out of your room. I fucked myself on my knotted dildo for like two hours straight afterward._

_P.P.S. If you want, you can trade me my sweater back for another. ;)_

_P.P.P.S. For the record, I would have wanted to be with you if you presented as a beta, too. Even though I was afraid to trust your kindness-- usually it’s just an act to get me into bed, I had a little crush on you from the first day we met. ;)_


	10. Week Ten

_Healthy bonds usually don’t fade- they grow stronger! That’s so cool! (Also, no wonder my mum’s never worked out. Definitely not healthy.)_

_Elderly Omegas: don’t ever be one, unless you have adoring children._

_Options after Spouse Dies: cheap old people homes, living on the street…_

_Yikes!!! This is a good reminder that I need to take care of my mum._

_Note to ask P. Grimshaw: what kinds of activism is there around protecting elderly omegas?? Can I get involved somehow??_

_-_ From Louis Tomlinson’s Week Nine: Dynamics in Aging notes.

***

Harry arrives early to class. No particular reason. He just feels like it. He sits in his usual desk near the front, pulls out his textbook, notebook and pen, and then arranges them neatly.

He glances at the seat beside him which remains empty though the rest of the classroom is beginning to fill. The clock says class should start in three minutes.

Harry writes his name and the date at the top of his paper and the twists to the right and then the left.

(Both neighboring seats are still empty.)

Harry smells an omega, and for a second his heart leaps, but it’s girl, out of breath, clearly running later than intended, her eyes on the giant clock on the wall. Professor Grimshaw follows close behind, their bond essays tucked neatly under his arm. He begins to hand them back.

He sets Harry’s on top of Harry’s notebook with a soft, _good job_. Then, he drops a second essay on the desk beside Harry, _which is still empty_.

Harry takes another quick look at the clock. It’s one minute past time for class to begin. His heart clenches and he resists the urge to take out his phone. (Professor Grimshaw’s syllabus makes clear his intention to confiscate any he sees out during class.)

Louis’ essay rests lonely on the wooden desktop, tempting Harry. He wonders if it still carries any of Louis’ scent.

Professor Grimshaw begins class by dimming the lights.

Harry leans back in his seat, so he can whisper to Niall, “What’s happening?”

Niall hisses back, “We’re watching a film. Apparently it follows an alpha, beta, and omega through ages fifteen to twenty five. It got a lot of attention a few years back as a popular documentary? _Finding Your Place_ or something like that? I’ve never seen it, but hey- I’m not complaining about watching a movie in class.”

“Where’s Louis?” The question bursts out of Harry, a low and urgent hiss.

Niall makes a face.

Harry knows the question’s come out of nowhere and he’s delivered it with far more desperation than it probably warrants, but, “I’m just curious if you know…”

“You’d know better than we would!” Niall replies with a roll of his eyes.

Beside Niall, Liam’s gazing at Harry with wild eyes. Harry’s stomach drops. What does he know?

“Harry!” Liam’s clutching his chest like maiden in a romance novel. “You’ve presented! You’re an alpha!”

“Gentlemen,” Professor Grimshaw says. “Please hold your conversation until after class.”

Liam flushes and glares at Harry before burying his head in his arms. Harry bites back a smile.

The movie begins and Louis _still_ hasn’t arrived. In fact, his desk remains empty the entire hour, and by the time Professor Grimshaw dismisses them, Harry’s stomach is churning.

What if something has happened to Louis? What if Louis regrets his letter to Harry? What if his letter had been a test? What if he hadn’t really wanted to wait till this class, but had expected Harry do to something grand, like show up at his room with a dozen roses?

“Harry!” Niall chases him out the door, grabbing his arm. “Hey, you can’t avoid us any longer. We want the details over lunch. Not, like, the gross stuff, but you know…”

Harry chews his lip, his gaze unconsciously flicking in the direction of Louis’ dorm. “Actually, there’s something else I really need to do right now.”

Liam’s caught up to them and he’s beaming. “I can’t believe it! You were so sure that you were going to be a beta! This is amazing! I’m so happy for you! An alpha.”

Harry winces at his words. Liam means well, but Harry’s not exactly celebrating this.

“It’s not— I’m not _that_ happy about it.” Harry’s aware of the mass of bodies swarming around them as another lecture lets out. He doesn’t want to have this conversation here.

“Sorry, mate.” Niall clasp on Harry’s upper arm tightens.

Liam tilts his head. “I know it’s not what you wanted, but I thought you’d be happy. This way you can have Louis.”

Harry’s heart stutters at the mention of Louis. “Speaking of Louis. I really want to see if he’s okay. I’m a little worried. He’s never missed class before.”

Niall shrugs. “Neither had you, before last week.”

Another possibility hits him. What if Louis’ gone into heat? Maybe he _shouldn’t_ rush over to his dorm. “Oh my god.”

He digs his phone out of his pocket. Louis sent him a text yesterday morning— just a sunglasses smiley face— and nothing since. Harry already knows this. He’s checked for a response to his reply (a grinning cat) about twenty times (and that’s a low estimate… very low).

He writes, _where are you? why did you miss class?_

“Did he send you a message or something?” Liam asks, leaning to look over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry hides the phone. For someone as concerned about propriety as Liam is, he really could use some serious work on his own manners.

“No, just um, he wants me to come see him,” Harry says.

“We can come, too, in case you need to, like, carry him somewhere.” Liam punctuates the statement with a firm nod and begins to walk in the direction of Louis’ dorm.

Harry chases after him and, a soft growl lacing his voice, says, “I don’t think he wants a lot of company.”

“Oh ho ho,” Niall chortles, right in Harry’s ear. He hadn’t realized Niall was so close behind.

Harry has to restrain himself from turning around and smacking him. Maybe a little bit of rut still coursing through his veins.

“Niall, no. I think he’s just having a bad day,” he lies, mostly because he does not want to have this conversation with _Liam_ , who will surely be scandalized, who may even call in the campus authorities to protect Louis from Harry’s aggressive alpha sexuality.

“Oh my god, you guys! It’s his heat,” Liam announces, as though he’s the first to have thought of it.

Niall nods his agreement, a gleeful smile twisting his lips. “Harry, here, is about to _get some omega ass!_ ”

Harry glances around them. Nobody appears to be watching closely, but he can’t be sure. “Would you keep your voice down? Please!”

Niall snickers, but he does not press the issue.

Liam on the other hand practically screeches, “He asked you to come over during his heat! I don’t believe it. Let me see that text.”

A group of girls standing on the steps of Louis’ dorm turn around to gaze at them, whispering to each other. Harry expects them to turn back around and continue inside, but they don’t. Fuck his _life_.

In order to move things along, not because he actually thinks Liam has _any_ right to his texts, Harry opens up his phone and shows it Liam and Niall.

Liam nods, sharp and decisive. “Looks like you weren’t lying.”

“Of course, I wasn’t lying!” He can barely believe that a boy is waiting for him- maybe naked, maybe with his _ass dripping_ , maybe desperate for Harry’s cock- and instead of running to be with him as fast as he can, he’s stuck in the courtyard enduring the most embarrassing scene of his life.

“Oh my god, he wants you so bad,” Niall says. While Harry’d been distracted by Liam, Niall’d begun scrolling back through his and Louis’ conversation.

“That’s private.” Harry wrenches the phone out of Niall’s grasp even though he knows there isn’t anything particularly embarrassing in the conversation, that Niall’s just having him on.

“Have you got protection?” Liam asks, folding his arms across his chest. “Did you read up on the best way to care for an omega in heat?”

Harry gapes at him. He hasn’t got protection, of course. He had no idea his day would take this kind of turn. And he hasn’t any spare time to waste on anything other than sleep and schoolwork since he snapped out of his rut.

“I’m not sure we should let you see him. I know Louis _says_ it’s what he wants, but his mind is probably heat-addled.” Liam grabs Harry by the bicep and begins to drag him in the other direction, toward the cafeteria where they usually eat after class. He resists for a moment before realizing that he’s _really_ causing a scene now.

Niall’s just laughing and trailing along beside them, not doing anything to help Harry’s case, despite the fact that he’d seen the whole week of flirty and affectionate text messages that Harry and Louis had exchanged.

“Liam, I know you’re just trying to be a good friend,” Harry pleads. “But I’m sure Louis wants this. He asked me last week to come to his dorm after class today. He had to have some inkling that this might happen. And, anyway, I don’t think it’s your job to protect him or make decisions for him. Isn’t he always saying that he’s his own person— that he hates the stereotype and proceeding social reality that omegas have to have another person in order to do shit that anyone else could do themselves?”

Liam stops and stares at Harry, lips pursed.

Harry doesn’t know if his cheeks can turn any pinker. Aliens lightyears away can probably see how embarrassed he is. He holds his breath waiting to see what Liam will do next.

Liam bites his lip, shakes his head, and then releases Harry suddenly laughing. Niall’s laughing, too.

“Oh my god! You really thought I was going to try and keep you from—“ The rest of his statement is lost in giggles. “You’re such an idiot.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “What?”

“Go!” Niall says.

“What just happened?” Harry demands. “Was that some kind of test?”

“Louis is waiting for you! What the fuck are you doing still talking to us?” Liam shoves Harry back in the direction of Louis’ dorm.

Harry takes off at a run and doesn’t look back.

~

Harry gasps for air as he stands in front of Louis’ closed door, Louis’ sweet scent wafting out underneath it, temptation and promise.

Harry knocks for the third time and says, “It’s just me, you don’t have to, like, clean up, or anything.”

Shuffling. A clatter. Louis’ scent grows thicker until the door swings open.

Louis’ eyes are dark, pupils blown as they take Harry in. Though he’s fully clothed, in a jacket, even, he feels stripped bare by the intensity of Louis’ gaze.

Louis, however, _is_ bare, pink erection on full display.

Harry’s own cock twitches. He’s already hard. How is he already _hard_?

“Oh my god,” Harry says, stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind him. “What if Niall and Liam had been with me?”

Louis frowns at him, but he looks more confused than angry. He still hasn’t said a word and Harry wonders if maybe he’s lost his voice. From moaning and shouting and … oh _god_. Harry rubs a hand over the front of his jeans and his throat tightens.

They stand there, watching each other, springs coiled tight, ready to burst free onto one another.

“Are you alright?” Harry asks, clenching his fists to keep from reaching out to Louis. He wants to be very sure what he thinks is happening is actually what is happening.

Louis nods.

Harry chews his lip. Then, he says, “I didn’t bring you notes because we just watched a film, but I have your graded essay, if you want?”

It’s in the mess of papers still clutched in one of his hands and he brings the pile up to begin to look through it.

Louis clears his throat and Harry freezes.

“I’m in heat,” Louis says, voice like sandpaper, grinding down against Harry’s nerves. Suddenly, every hair on Harry’s body is standing on end.

He looks at Louis’ face. “I know.”

“You can smell it?” Louis asks.

Harry nods. “Yeah. And also, I mean, why else would you skip class?” Then, he tacks on, “And Liam said you mentioned something about it to him.”

“Harry,” Louis says, shift his weight from leg to the other. Harry can all but see the slick sliding down the backs of his thighs.

“Harry,” Louis says again, with more urgency.

Harry takes a shaky breath. “What? Do you want me to go?”

Louis whimpers.

So that’s a _yes_. With another uneven breath, rich with Louis’ scent, Harry turns to leave. It’s fine. It’s probably better this way. Rushing into something sexual, without even a proper conversation about becoming boyfriends first, that seems like a bad idea- the sort of shenanigans everyone thinks horny alpha teenagers get themselves into and pre-judges them for.

Harry’s better than that.

With his hand on the doorknob, Harry remembers Louis’ offer, about the sweatshirt. He wants to take Louis’ scent with him, think about him while—

Louis’ moved in close behind him and Harry can’t help it, he takes yet another deep breath of him. Louis makes a wet sound in the back of his throat.

“Louis, I’m going to—“

“Fuck me,” Louis says. “I don’t want you to go. I want you to fuck me. I’ve spent the last two weeks thinking about your knot, how it would feel in my hand, up my ass. I’ve come hundreds of times imagining it.”

Harry’s hard and if Louis’ keeps talking like this with slick gathering in his ass less than two feet away, Harry suspects he’ll be knotting up before long. He won’t even need a hand on him.

“Are you sure?” Harry asks.

“Yes,” Louis murmurs, his hands coming to Harry’s hips, his lips to Harry’s neck. He noses the spot under Harry’s ear and breathes in deeply. “Please. I want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, because he can’t _not_. Not with his cock throbbing in his pants and Louis’ breath hot against his skin and Louis’ rough, desperate words reverberating around his head. “Can I touch you?”

Louis huffs softly and nods into Harry’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Harry fumbles, turning around. Louis’ got a lock of hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. Harry leans forward and kisses him, hard on the mouth. Thoughts of Louis’ lips on his fueled some of his darkest moments during his rut and for the small moment before their lips touch, Harry worries that the actuality won’t live up to the fantasy he’s created.

But it does. Because Louis’ lips move against his own— warmer and wetter than Harry’s pillow. Meanwhile, Louis pushes Harry’s jacket off his shoulders and his hot palms find their way under Harry’s shirt.

Louis’ on fire and Harry’s catching and Harry aches to touch the source. He reaches down to grab hold of Louis’ cock and pulls, a few sure strokes that have Louis gasping again into Harry’s mouth.

Harry pauses, but he doesn’t take his hand away. “Is this okay?”

“Of course, it’s okay,” Louis bites out. “I want _more_.”

Harry takes this as an invitation to slide his hand over Louis’ balls and back into the slick heat of Louis’ ass. He groans. Here, _here_ is the source of fire. Here is what Harry’s been looking for, for weeks, months, maybe even years.

It’s amazing… and yet…. he can’t quite find the right angle to go in deep.

“Wait,” Louis says. And then, turning to press his back to Harry’s front he says, “Like this.”

His ass grinds hard against Harry’s cock and gripping Louis’ hips, yeah, Harry thinks, _like this._ Louis finds Harry’s right hand, and Harry expects him to link their fingers together, to press them against the meat of his thigh as he rocks back and back and back against Harry, but he doesn’t. He moves Harry’s hand back over his hip and cheek, and for a moment Harry think he’s pushing Harry away, but then Louis guides Harry’s fingers to press against his wet hole from behind.

Harry’s first and second finger slip inside without a hitch. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, not to anyone (except maybe Louis), but Harry’s done this to himself before, slid his fingers up inside himself, explored until he found the promised prostate.

But Louis is _different,_ slick and smooth, and so so so _hot_. Harry’s fingers fumble as he searches for the spot that will make Louis—

“ _Fuck_ ,” Louis cries. “Harry, _yeah._ ”

That’s it. Harry glows. He’s done it.

Despite how wild and desperate he feels, despite how every thought slides out of his mind as though covered in Louis’ slick, Harry manages to wrap his free hand around Louis’ cock so that he can stroke him in tandem.

Louis whimpers, his face twisting to press into the side of Harry’s neck and, after a particularly rough pull, he bites down on the skin of Harry’s throat.

“More,” he says.

Harry’s hands pick up speed.

“No,” Louis groans. “ _More_.”

Harry fumbles for a moment, trying to think. _More?_ How can he—

He wiggles a third finger up into Louis and Louis lets out a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

Harry renews his efforts, but they’re not good enough, because not ten seconds later, Louis’ saying, “ _More_ ,” again.

Voice cracking, Harry says, “How?”

Their eyes meet.

“Eat me out,” Louis demands.

Harry’s more than happy to oblige. He drops to his knees, hitting the linoleum hard enough that he winces. But the his pain is quickly forgotten as Louis wiggles, his ass on a level with Harry’s eyes.

The temptation to dive right nearly overwhelms him, but Harry manages to hold back. He sits back on his haunches and takes Louis in, gaze traveling from his finely boned ankles to the tender backs of his knees. He doesn’t linger on the curve of Louis’ ass— he’ll come back to that in just a moment— but instead continues up the line of his spine over the jut of his shoulder blades. His journey ends on the back of Louis’ neck, which is flushed pink and twisted slightly.

Harry almost stands so that he can press into it again— Louis’ smell is _fucking_ perfect— but then, out of the corner of eye, he catches movement. A drop of slick, slides down Louis thigh, leaving a glistening line in its wake.

“Come _on_ ,” Louis demands. “I thought you were going to eat me out.”

Harry’s hands find Louis’ ass, and, again, he pauses, testing the weight of it against his palms.

“You’re so damn _slow_ ,” Louis says.

In response, Harry pinches him lightly on the round of his left cheek. Louis squeals and reaches around to smack at Harry’s hand. He misses, maybe because of the angle or maybe because Harry’s leaned in to blow a hot breath over the pink of his hole.

Louis shudders.

Harry groans as he discovers that Louis tastes just as good— even better, maybe— than he smells, sweet and salty and perfect.

It’s wet and sloppy— Harry can feel the slick and spit cover his chin and cheeks and Louis’ so responsive, twitching and shaking and shouting, that he can’t even find a rhythm with his tongue.

Honestly, the intensity of Louis’ reaction surprises Harry. He’s embarrassed to admit he’d never thought much about eating Louis— or anyone— out. The textbook hadn’t mentioned this particular sex act. Sure, he’d seen it in porn, but he’d usually skipped past, eager for the good part, the slide of a thick cock in and out of a wet hole.

He’s grateful that Louis thought of it and _asked_ for it because _fuck_ if the taste of Louis and the sound of his gasping encouragement isn’t the hottest thing that Harry’s ever experienced.

Harry’s pulled out of his reverie by a new sound— the slapping of skin on skin. He realizes that Louis’ hand has snaked down to his cock and that he’s beginning to pull himself off.

His strokes are quick, his balls high, and his hole twitching. Harry almost cries out in echoing relief the moment Louis begins to come in hot, wet streaks across the door.

Harry finds himself falling back to his haunches again, breathing hard and mesmerized by the pearly white slide of Louis’ come down the dark wood of his door.

“Hey,” Louis says after a moment, turning around.

His voice is soft, but he’s not winded. How is he not winded?

Harry’s eyes flick up to meet Louis’.

“Wanna feel you,” Louis continues. One of his hands is in Harry’s hair and the other rests lightly on Harry’s shoulder, but his eyes have fallen to the line of Harry’s erection pressing up against his jeans.

He doesn’t need to clarify, “your knot,” but he does and Harry’s cock jumps up, as eager for Louis’ touch as Louis is to give it.

“Yes,” Harry agrees. “Whatever you want.”

Louis makes a noise in the back of his throat and Harry’s heart twists.

“Tell me what you want,” Harry insists, “and I’ll do it.”

Louis nods, eyes wide and hungry, searching Harry’s face and body as though he can’t decide where to start. Harry reaches a hand down to press against his erection, which has begun to throb.

“I want you in bed,” Louis says. “In my bed.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees because now that Louis’ said it, he can’t think of anything better than being surrounded by Louis’ scent and Louis’ body and the wet heat of Louis’ ass all at once.

Breath still coming in hard pants, Harry begins to move toward the bed. He’s stopped by Louis’ hand wrapping around his wrist.

Meeting Louis’ eyes over his shoulder, he says, “Yeah?”

“You’re still wearing all your clothes,” Louis says.

Harry looks down. “I am.”

Harry and Louis’ eyes meet and hold for a long moment.

Louis swallows. Very carefully he says, “Take them off.”

Harry obliges, but his limbs feel heavy and his movements slow. His shirt gets stuck on his ears and he has to tug hard to make it over his head. When he can see again, Louis is licking his lips and watching him closely.

His hands shake as they unbutton and the zip rings loud in the quiet room. Harry shucks his jeans and pants over his hips and they fall easily to the floor around his ankles.

His cock bobs as he frees his feet from the mess of clothes. His knot hasn’t popped, not completely, but he can see the beginnings of it straining at his base.

“Up,” Louis instructs. “Up, up, up.” He hustles past Harry, scent temporarily blinding him, and up the ladder into the loft.

With a deep, Louis-thick breath, Harry follows.

When he arrives Louis is arranging himself on all fours, ass pink and facing Harry. Over his shoulder he tosses a condom. Harry rips it open and pulls it on.

Voice a low grind, Louis says, “I think this way first.”

First. Harry’s heart clenches. Because— that’s right— they’ve agreed to be boyfriends. This won’t be the only time Harry’s able to have Louis this way. It may not even be the only time _today_.

“Whatever you want,” Harry repeats.

“I want your knot.” Louis’ voice pitches high on the last word, the first sign of desperation he’s given since he came all over the door.

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, because he wants that, too. “My knot.” He reaches down to stroke himself feeling said knot grow, whether at the thought of being inside _Louis_ or at his touch, hard to say.

Harry parts Louis’ cheeks and slips a finger inside.

Louis lets out a small noise.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, desperate for Louis’ approval.

“No,” Louis replies and Harry’s heart stops. But then Louis adds, “I said _I want your knot_ ,” and Harry relaxes.

“I’m making sure you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” Louis insists. “I’ve been ready since I woke up this morning from a dream of you pounding into me with my ass already dripping wet.”

Harry swallows. “You dreamt of me?”

“Fuck.” Louis’ ass clenches around Harry’s finger. “Just fuck me.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told again. He withdraws his finger, lines himself up with Louis’ hole and begins to slide in.

Harry thought he knew what to expect, thought he was prepared for the wet and the heat of Louis. He’s got Louis’ slick on his fingers and his tongue. But nothing could have fully prepared him for the feeling of having his cock inside him.

He lets out a shaking breath and begins to rock in and out.

Louis is loud. Like, really loud. At first, it’s just a gentle moan and encouraging _yeah_ here and there as they begin to find a rhythm, but it grows to a shout when Harry’s knot catches on his rim.

“Fuck,” he cries. And then, “ _Please_.”

And Harry can’t deny him— wouldn’t even think of it— so he slips the rest of the way in tying them. They both go still, but for Harry’s hand which has reached around to strip at Louis’ cock.

Louis whimpers.

“What?” The word comes out a rough whisper.

“ _Move_.”

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He can’t move much, not tied like this, but he tries, with short sharp cants of his hips, matching the rhythm of his hand on Louis.

His orgasm feels like it comes from the base of his spine and shudders out through his whole body. His knot throbs and his strokes stutter.

Louis’ hand comes up, fingers covering Harry’s, to finish himself off.

He comes with a cry so loud that Harry’s sure it will carry through the thick dorm walls. The thought pleases Harry. Everyone will know that Louis’ been well cared for through his heat, and maybe even that Harry’s responsible.

They collapse into a messy heap, Harry’s knot still binding them together. Eventually, the tie will loosen and Harry will find something to clean them. They’ll have to sort out exactly what they mean to each other and how they want to continue their relationship. Louis will need to explain the circumstances to his RA, maybe secure Harry all hours access to his building, and vice versa.

But for now they remain wrapped tight together, pressing lazy kisses into each other’s skin and enjoying the heat.

Harry wonders if their scents have made their way under the door to mingle in the hallway, whether they’ll tease at the senses of all those nosy people in the courtyard. He sort of hopes that they have.

He remembers something he’d noticed earlier. “You got the tattoo..”

“Yeah.” Louis links their ankles, and the motion sends a jolt of pleasure through Harry. “Are you gonna get one? For your coming of age, I mean?”

Harry makes a noise. “To sort of claim it, you mean?”

“Yeah.” Louis twists his head to press a kiss to Harry’s cheek.

Harry smiles. “I like that idea.”

“What do you think you’d get?”

“An alpha, like the greek letter--” Harry begins.

“Boring,” Louis singsongs. “Maybe you are part-beta.”

“Definitely not this part,” Harry shifts his hips and they both groan. “And you didn’t let me finish. An alpha and a heart--” he traces a finger over the left side of Louis’ chest “--right here.”

“You’re a sap,” Louis says. He sounds pleased. Tired, but pleased.

Harry nods into his neck.

“This is going to last, isn’t it?” Louis’ words are soft, like he might be starting to doze off.

“I hope so,” Harry replies and a presses a gentle kiss into the spot where Louis’ neck and shoulder meet, a wish, and, maybe, a promise.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr post](http://juliusschmidt.tumblr.com/post/173063799615/introduction-to-dynamics-by-juliusschmidt-larry)


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